


F. Schubert/F. Liszt - Serenade in D minor

by ArchieHabian



Series: Kybersong [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Feels, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchieHabian/pseuds/ArchieHabian
Summary: In his exile on Tatooine Obi-Wan isn't keen on the idea of having guests, but something about Cal Kestis makes him change his mind.
Relationships: Cal Kestis & Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Cal Kestis, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Cal Kestis
Series: Kybersong [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756912
Comments: 198
Kudos: 407





	1. Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, if Cal could sense force-echoes from Trilla's lightsaber, there's no way he could have supressed the echoes from Vader's armor, had he touched it. So I elaborated on this idea and went on with it, 'cuz Cal and Obi-Wan both deserved better!

Mustafar was a scorchingly hot planet. Has always been, and yet, despite the rivers of lava flowing across the planet’s surface Obi-Wan felt cold. With each strike he blocked, with each word Anakin screamed at him in his soul-consuming rage, with each passing moment he felt colder still. He didn’t know how it came to this; he had no idea why he agreed to- ...no. He didn’t agree to this; killing his Padawan was not a possibility he could ever consider, even after watching the security recordings where... where Anakin did the unthinkable, slaying younglings, the horrendous, unforgivable act, and yet Obi-Wan still wanted — still hoped — to talk him down, show him that there was still way back to the light. 

“The Jedi are evil” — how could this thought had ever crossed anybody’s mind? How could have Anakin believed that the Order was corrupted, more so - to the point of plotting against the parliament, the Republic, for Force’s sake, the very thing they’ve all sworn to protect?! 

But Anakin did not listen, completely lost to Palpatine’s sickening, twisted lies; they were all he was willing to believe and cared not for what Obi-Wan had to say. Yoda warned him that this would happen. That there was no Anakin anymore — that he was consumed by the Dark Side, with no turning back, and yet... Obi-Wan didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t. There was simply no way someone like Anakin, someone who used to believe that people in the galaxy had to help each other turned to dark so quick and so completely. 

"I have failed you, Anakin. I have failed you.”

Failed to teach him to think, to see through the lies of others, to keep the light in his soul from fading. 

There was no end to their duel; Anakin was strong, has always been, his anger only fueling his strength, but it was Obi-Wan who taught him to fight, which made almost his every move predictable. Even so, Anakin wasn’t the one to ever give up. Obi-wan knew that, and yet, as he stared down at his apprentice on a platform towering over the lava, he pleaded with him to do so. Not to try making that jump, because... 

He watched in mute horror as Anakin leaped up from the platform, as his own hand jerked up, blinding bright blue of his lightsaber right before his eyes and then a scream, a thud of cut limbs falling to the ground, rolling down. He half-remembered picking up Anakin’s lightsaber before yelling his love out on what remained of the man who was once his — his Padawan, his brother, his deepest attachment, his _home_ — everything. His heart froze and shattered into thousands pieces, as Anakin’s clothes caught fire and ignited, as he screamed in pain, in hate, eyes burning with the same yellow colour as the flames. It would have been merciful to strike him down, to bring him death and yet, Obi-Wan could not. A better Jedi would have. A better man would have, but all he could do was turn away, teardrops colder still on his cheekbones, vision — a blur. 

He didn’t remember how he got back to the ship; there were just flashes of images, faded, almost black and white. Padme, asking him, if Anakin was alright, before slipping back into unconsciousness, Bail Organa and Master Yoda meeting him on the landing platform of Polis Massa. A med droid telling him, that despite their best efforts Padme decided to just give up living. Oh, how he wanted to do the same. But he could not, his life was not his own; it belonged to the Order, even if it crumbled right before his eyes. So, he followed Yoda’s words, took the boy to Tatooine, to his family. He knew that Anakin — Darth Vader — won’t be looking for anybody there. A hoarse, pained laugh escaped his throat as he plotted a course to the far-away planet: Anakin hated the damn place. 

Five years on Tatooine were same blurry fog, coloured in all the colours of sepia. The rough planet wasn’t a welcoming place, not that he ever thought of it this way before. Worst of all, were its people and their attitudes combined his own desire to _still be a Jedi,_ which he could not afford. He still found himself breaking up fights in cantinas and shops, mind-tricking slave-owners, Force, he even unraveled the whole plot with fake tusken raiders’ attacks and sent a woman with two kids to live a better life off Tatooine. It frustrated him to no end, how he couldn’t stay out of everything and mind his own kriffing business — if only he had any. 

Lars family didn’t like him one bit. Didn’t allow him to visit. He still insisted on bringing them supplies now and then, watched Luke from afar, a clever, curious boy — _a boy he who shined so brightly in the Force, a boy he should have been already training_ — he was growing in a miniature copy of his biological father, resembling Anakin in his affinity for all things mechanical, as well as piloting. The Force made those things easy for him. There was just less anger, less frustration; this boy was no slave, this boy knew more kindness from the world around him, than Anakin ever did. 

Qui-Gon started talking to him during his second year on the desert planet and has become his only company ever since. It seemed to Obi-Wan that his master simply waited for his breaking point, because Qui-Gon waltzed inside when he was at his lowest, struggling to sleep because of nightmares that tortured him every time he closed his eyes, unable to stay awake because there is only so much time one can go without sleep, unable to see the point in being on this planet — why did it matter if he wasn’t allowed anywhere near the boy he was supposed to protect? A warm hand covered his own, as he held Anakin’s lightsaber over his heart. It would have been only fitting to — ignite it, feel it slice through his flesh and bones — to die from his Padawan’s weapon. 

“Your focus determines your reality,” Qui-Gon told him quietly, voice soft, serene. “It’s something you seem to have forgotten about, Obi-Wan.”

It was all it took to talk him down. The moment of weakness was gone, but the nightmares were not. Days spent in meditation together with his Master didn’t seem as long or as wasted as others, as he tried to connect with the Force closer than ever before; letting it flow through him and let his spirit flow with it. It wasn’t an easy task. Letting go of his fears, his anxieties, _his sorrows_ was torture, as he had to accept them first, re-live each and every one of them and that felt like tearing open old wounds. A long process, which took him three more years, before they finally, _finally_ got to untangling the mess which used to come by the name of Anakin Skywalker. 

Obi-Wan caught himself on the thought that he had no idea what day or what month it was, in his search for serenity he lost track of time, of his surroundings completely — he still checked on Luke, though, through the Force, he could now feel him better than ever before. Luke was not the only being he could feel, there were his parents, there was a settlement nearby, an oasis which Obi-Wan knew too well to ever visit again, the tusken raiders in the desert, a herd of banthas and… something new, unfamiliar. He could sense a spaceship approaching, and on it… a latero, two humans and a zabrak.

Three of them were force-users. The zabrak was soaked by the dark side of the Force, and yet the dark appeared somehow controlled, lacked the hatred Sith usually reeked of. 

_“A nightsister,”_ he recognized.

One of the humans was stained by the dark and yet still fighting, light bleak, but not fading. A former Jedi, probably. He could only guess how many touched the Dark Side on the day Order 66 was executed. 

The third one… Obi-Wan couldn’t really tell. There was no Dark, the presence oddly familiar, and yet not at all — _because it couldn’t be, he knew it couldn’t, the boy he trained was gone, gone, gone, gone_ — he couldn’t quite place the feeling. 

His eyes now open, senses sharp, he stood up from his meditation spot, reached for his lightsaber and secured it on his belt. He didn’t anticipate a fight, but just in case the negotiations turn aggressive... 

Whatever those four wanted, _he_ didn’t want _them_. He didn’t want attention three force-users could bring to this place, to him, to the child he had sworn to protect. 

So, he stepped outside, leaning against the warm stone wall of his hut, the sunlight bright, as it has always been on Tatooine, two suns in an endless chase across the sky. A small ship landed in the distance, it’s silhouette sleek, sharp, elegant; built for luxury, it seemed, more than long-term travel. 

Three people walked out of the ship. They had a brief conversation, it seemed, and then one stayed behind. “The dark didn’t follow,” — the Force whispered. 

The two slowly walked closer, fighting the sun and the heat of midday suns, and oh, they were not dressed for the weather, their figures dark spots over the pale-beige sand; an easy target for whatever chose to strike, the reason why Obi-Wan could see them from afar. 

“Wait, I think, I sense something,” a voice carried across the empty desert, loud and clear, as one of the people kneeled on the sand, outstretching his hand, to feel the Force, and then jerked back, as if from the impact. “Yes, he was here. Not long ago, he spoke to somebody, his… his… I can’t, I don’t know, let’s just go.”

“Cal, do you really want to meet him? I can see what those echoes do to you, maybe it would be better to leave it be? I can’t sense darkness in this place.” came a soft reply, in a voice which was barely familiar. Something from another life, someone Obi-Wan might have met in the Temple. A former Jedi. 

So, they _were_ a master-Padawan pair. Curious. Curious how the _Padawan_ was the one to feel the force, to sense his conversation with Qui-Gon in the desert which took place the other night, especially considering how dim the young man’s force signature was. Obi-Wan didn’t move, reluctant to come out of the shadow his hut provided, waiting for them to come closer and finally notice him.

A droid on the Padawan’s shoulder had the sharpest eye. It beeped excitedly, and leaped down on the sand, sprinting forward, forcing his owner (and his owner’s master) to follow. 

Up close, he finally recognized the Jedi Knight whose voice sounded familiar. Cere Junda. They didn’t exactly _know each other_ , no, but he knew who she was, and he knew that the boy who was with her now was _not_ her Padawan. Her Padawan was a girl, bright eyes, dark hair, brilliant intellect — so bright in the Force, he still remembered. Where was she now, that her master picked up a stray, it seemed? Was she, maybe, safe, into hiding, somewhere far away from the Empire? Was she mercilessly slaughtered by the clones right after a friendly chat with them? Or did she, perhaps, meet a fate worse than death, same as his own Padawan? 

Oh, it pained him to think about Anakin, but those thoughts kept spiralling towards him yet again. He tried to release the piercing emotion into the Force, let it dissolve there, leave behind nothing but a lingering numbness, something he got used to over the years, something he was used to waking up to after horrors night brought — _Anakin’s twisted face, his yellow eyes, screaming, flames,_ — there was no emotion, there was only peace. 

“Master Kenobi, I finally found you!” 

It wasn’t Master Junda who greeted him. Her companion — a young man, _a boy,_ who was almost unseen in the Force, his light shining a nostalgic light blue, just like Anakin’s, but dimmer, as if faded to almost nothing, for reasons Obi-Wan could not quite get, his hair — the colour of Mustafar flames. They’ve never met before, or rather… there was nothing remarkable about the youngling this man once was, if their paths ever crossed in the Temple.

“I was never lost to be found, young one,” he carefully replied. 

Why would they seek him specifically, that’s what bothered him. Being in exile didn’t suggest being found, let alone being sought after. Their Order was long gone, the most efficient way to stay alive was to live separately, that way, if one got caught, there was no way others got hurt. Not to know where others were was a clever way — the Empire was cruel enough to resort to the most violent of tortures, and they would not stop before a thing, if it meant getting rid of yet another Jedi — 

Cal Kestis, the boy’s name was. In his brief explanation as to why he was here, he told about his naive dream of restoring the Jedi Order (Obi-Wan almost chuckled at the thought, at how impossible the prospect seemed), of how he believed that they all should stick together. His words flowed smoothly, perhaps too much so, like a well-rehearsed poem, and although there were no traces of dishonesty in his voice there was certainly something he didn’t tell. 

Master Junda didn’t seem so keen on her charge’s idea, as she quietly reminded Cal not to be too pushy, to remember what Merrin — whoever that was — told him. 

“Can we come inside to talk?” Cal asked, visibly uncomfortable in the planet’s heat.

Obi-Wan nodded and lead them inside his home. He would offer them rest, some cool water and food, but then he would have to make them leave. 

Cere calmly settled at the table, while Cal lingered at the entrance, looking around, as if unsure, what to do next. 

“Cal sensed that you’ve encountered Darth Vader at some point, Master Kenobi,” she looked at him with eyes full of compassion — _and his heart dropped, because it was his darkest, deepest sorrow, because Vader was once Skywalker, because he was once his Padawan, his dear one_ — and understanding. “He was worried that that encounter might have influenced you. You see, I met him too, and that… it almost broke me.”

“I see,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady; almost flinched at how cold and hoarse it sounded. “And I appreciate your charge’s concern, but I’m fine, as you can see. The Darkness didn’t stain me.”

“I’m glad,” came Cere’s honest reply. She then told him their story, and asked, if he cared to come with them, become a part of their group, which he politely declined. And that was it. He didn’t have to force them to go away. 

“May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi,” she said, offering him a warm smile as she bowed politely on her way out. Cal followed her, eyes downcast, wiping his nose — _was that blood?_ — with the corner of his white-and-yellow striped poncho. 

And just like that, they were gone. Obi-Wan was almost glad that the visit didn’t drag for longer. It was… an unwanted distraction from his meditations. He watched them go back to their ship, watched the ship for several more minutes before it finally raised a cloud of sand around itself before lifting off the planet’s surface and disappearing somewhere beyond the horizon.


	2. Cal Kestis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cal isn't dealing with things well.

Tatooine was an unwelcoming place. Not that any other place that Cal had visited in his search for Obi-Wan Kenobi was any different. 

From the very first force-echo he sensed; it was torture. Some could say that Darth Vader was a fearful sight, that the dark, radiating from him was menacing, paralyzing, but his memories were so much worse. Cal never expected to see what he saw, as he struggled to get free from the Sith’s grasp. That the emperor’s first was tormented by so much pain, so much emotion — anger, betrayal, fear, regret,  _ guilt —  _ unthinkable. It overtook Cal’s whole being, kept him awake at night, as he jerked awake, feeling —  _ a blue lightsaber cuts him in two as he attempts a jump he was so confident he would make, a searing pain through his very being as he drops to the scorchingly-hot ground, and then the flames, and it burns, it burns, it hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts _ — nothing but his own ragged breaths, at least so he willed himself to believe. 

He told nobody of his struggles, only of his resolve to find Vader’s — Skywalker’s — Master. He didn’t tell of the relationship between the Sith lord and the Jedi either, only of their battle on Mustafar, and his crew, ever understanding, eagerly followed him to the  tiny, fiery planet in the Outer Rim. There were… many things he had to overcome. Clones, purge troopers, the heat of lava pools, old, melting durasteel structures under his feet, but compared to the memories — it was  _ nothing _ . There was so much pain, yet  _ hope _ , so much hatred, and yet  _ love _ , and then… regret, sorrow,  _ agony _ . Cal felt as if he could drown in those feelings, as he sat there, on the very place where Obi-Wan Kenobi picked up his former Padawan’s lightsaber, gasping for breath, as if it was him, whose fate shattered here five years ago. He almost crawled to the place where the shuttle once was, where Vader’s wife laid. He could barely figure out where they headed; the echoes here were faint, and he had to use every last bit of Force he had left to push away the pain, the suffering, to drag the memories of where Obi-Wan was heading to the surface. With an effort, an effort he could barely handle, he managed it. 

He returned to the Mantis exhausted, almost dropped into meditation, to clear his mind: there is no emotion, there is no emotion,  _ there is no emotion _ , only peace. He spent a solid hour trying to find it, but it never came. He stood up from the floor even more uneasy than before, and asked Greez to plot a course to the next planet. 

It didn’t get much better there, pain and sorrow echoimg in the Force louder than anything, it was hard to feel much else at all, his Force reserves running low, exhaustion from lack of sleep at night, constant fighting, stormtroopers screaming as he pushed his way through Empire territory, nosebleeds becoming his constant companion, as stims were no longer enough to keep him up to speed, as he needed more and more, not to collapse. BD-1 beeped worriedly, but he was always quick to reassure the droid that he was, in fact, okay. 

Cere didn’t buy it, though. She saw how pale he was, how prone he was to spacing out and how disconnected from reality he had become — trusting only in the Force, but the Force could sometimes be too much, it seemed, for one boy to take. She tried to reason with him, but he didn’t listen. With his dream of restoring the Order and finding the force-sensitive kids gone, he clung to the idea of finding one specific Jedi and refused to let it go. She hoped that once they met Master Kenobi, it would be over. This obsession would end, Cal would finally be able to rest and sleep. The Jedi’s words on Tatooine were a relief. He was as peaceful and serene as they come, it seemed, unbothered by what’s been happening anywhere else despite having met Darth Vader, almost defeating him on Mustafar, as Cal told her, which was… quite an achievement, she thought, because for her fight against the Dark was everlasting. If that wasn’t enough to put Cal at ease, she didn’t know what was, but alas…

Cal was very quiet on their way back to the Mantis, didn’t say a word until Greez asked where to next — 

“Bogano,” he half-whispered, and as they were about to take off and then, in a blink, rushed off the common room to the door and jumped — BD-1 beeping in panic, jumping after him in one swift motion, Cere almost followed them, but Merrin grabbed her arm. 

“Don’t go. He made up his mind.”

Cal landed on all fours, face-down in the sand, and stayed there. He had no strength left to get up, the Force betraying him. Twin suns’ heat burned his back, BD-1 nudged his cheek, sand slowly falling from the air back to the dunes where it belonged. 

“Stim, buddy,” Cal whispered, reaching for the small canister his droid friend willingly offered. Yeah. That will keep him going for just a bit longer. He  _ just  _ has to make it all the way back to… through the dunes… in the sun… Stim had its effect, sure it did, but as Cal knocked on the locked door of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s hut, no reply came. He reached out through the Force, and he felt that the man was still there, but… 

Well. He was not welcome, so it seemed. Truthfully, it wasn’t even surprising, really. Cal knew, how unwelcome past can be, when it comes knocking at the door. He himself wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of leaving Bracca once, yet here he was… and he needed help.

With a heavy sigh he settled down on the sand and closed his eyes. 

“There is no chaos, there is harmony” he whispered, feeling the sand sifting through the dunes around, each individual grain of it so perfectly in synch with others. The heat of two suns was not burning, but warm, light not blinding, but soft. He could will himself to feel that, if he tried hard enough. He could find a thousand reasons why Tatooine was a place where Master Kenobi chose to stay. Here was so much to meditate on, and yet nothing at all. 

The white-hot day slowly faded into the coldest night, leaving Cal shivering, as he tried to wrap himself into his poncho. It was nothing, compared to Ilum, though, but after a whole day in the sun it still felt too cold for his comfort. So much so that he knocked on the door once more — no answer, no luck. 

The next day left him with a sunburn all over his face and hand. The next night gave him a sore throat, as his body slowly gave up under pressure. 

Was this, perhaps, his test? He wouldn’t be spoken to, until he finds his serenity? Maybe it was something akin to what his own Master used to do. He remembered being tested for endurance, he remembered sleepless nights, he remembered spending weeks without proper food, because should  _ something  _ happen, a Jedi should also be prepared…

_ Something  _ happened, and he was. 

So, he tried to slip into a meditative state time after time, as days faded into an ever-changing cycle of blue and orangy-beige, and worry. He was slowly running out of little water he had, and there was only so much stims BD-1 could provide. When he jumped from the ship, he didn’t expect to spend a week in the desert under the planet’s cruel suns. Last drops were sweet against his tongue, as the wind brushed grains of sand against his cheek. He wouldn’t make it. He wouldn’t. 

— too weak, incompetent, he had no right to be knighted, no right to be a Jedi, when he was just an excuse for one — 

Another day gone by, as he sat on the Jedi Master’s doorstep, all his hopes slowly dying as blood dripped from his nose to his chin — he failed to care enough to wipe it, and it dried there, too thick to drip down further. His breath hitched. He wouldn’t make it.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, BD,” he whispered, voice breaking, eyes sore with tears, as he gathered the last of his strength to get up and knock at the door one —  _ last  _ — more time, before slipping back to the ground, eyes closed, seeing only light. 

He half-heard footsteps, the sound of the door opening, half-felt pleasantly cool hands on his cheeks brushing hair off his forehead. A presence in the Force — light-blue of the water, which lacked on this desert hell, as he felt being carefully picked up and carried. 

A sting of pain, as cold cloth touched his cheeks, smell of antiseptic strong in the air, as blood was wiped off his face — a gentle touch, filled with care — and then warm feel of bacta spray, unpleasant, just as bacta always was. A glass was pressed against his lips, and he greedily drank the sweetest water that he ever tasted in his life, hoping to remember this feeling, this moment of comfort forever. Then, just as greedily as he drank the water, he clung to his savior, his light, this watery-bright-blue in the Force, soft fabric under his fingertips, warmth of another human being near; so overwhelming, before… oh Force,  _ please not again! _

_ —...blinding bright blue of his... — no, not his, Kenobi’s — ...lightsaber, the sound of a human body falling to the ground, Skywalker’s screams of hate, the agonizing feeling of heartbreak, of soul burning to ashes... _

_ “...I loved you!” — _

Cal cannot scream or cry, he chokes on his voice and buries his bacta-covered face on Jedi Master’s shoulder, unable to pull away, to come to his senses, to just push the memories which the Force showed him from his mind. 

“Anakin.”

He was pulled into a hug, gentle, yet firm. Chaste kiss pressed against his temple, strong arms around him, as he was held, mistaken for someone he was not, mistaken for someone who was the cause of his own distress and pain. 

There shouldn’t have been emotion, there should have been only peace, for a Jedi Knight, and yet he wept, silently, for he didn’t know how long, until exhaustion took over. He faintly remembered the soft pillow and a blanket being pulled over him, and then… he finally drifted off to sleep: hazy, feverish slumber.

The nightmares didn’t leave him, however. He had been waking up several times throughout the night, only to find Master Kenobi by his side, handing him a glass of blue milk, before putting him back to sleep, whispering reassuring nothings as if Cal was but a sick youngling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand hopefully I'll have an update for you all soon UwU


	3. Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a new chapter!

After the uninvited guests left, Obi-Wan returned to his hermit way of life, where he didn’t have a need to leave his home too often, where he didn’t have visitors for _years,_ except his Master, but Qui-Gon was elusive, he came and went, like wind, offering his guidance on the way to finding ultimate peace. Yet, Obi-Wan couldn’t rely on his Master alone. He wasn’t a young Padawan, and he could manage untangling his emotions on his own, even if those were his darkest — the ones his guests so conveniently reminded him of. 

In the days that followed, he reached for his memories of Mustafar and pushed beyond them, beyond the hurt, to the time where his heart was still unbroken. The happy moments he shared with Anakin, while he was still his Padawan. His bright smile, ever-confident, his blue eyes, kind and curious, always so curious... 

He remembered it —

> — a diplomatic mission, one of his first ones as a Jedi Knight, turned a success, after three full days of negotiations, which his young apprentice had to spend on their ship, without setting a foot on the planet. Anakin wanted to see the palace, the new people, to taste the food, but alas; he was still too young and unskilled for his presence on those types of gatherings to be sanctioned by the Council, even after the negotiations were over. He couldn’t have been left at the Temple either; nobody really wanted the disaster young Skywalker harboured in himself and the boy sensed it only too well. 
> 
> Obi-Wan remembered his thoughts wandering back to the ship, remembered constant tugging on their bond, with “how long now, Master?” and “I’m so bored, Master!” making it hard to concentrate on polite conversations and small talk. He remembered smiling, remembered warm feeling swelling inside his chest as he planned smuggling treats for his Padawan from a formal event. It wasn’t something a Jedi Master should have done, but it was something Obi-Wan himself would have appreciated in his time as a Padawan, were it ever to occur. It never did, as Qui-Gon showed him kindness in his own ways. 
> 
> When he finally got back to their shuttle, he found Anakin sitting on his cot, catching up on some reading — he must have really been so bored , to voluntarily touch the Jedi texts. 
> 
> “Master!” the boy’s eyes lit up, as he sprung up, a broad smile on his face, as he almost knocked Obi-Wan over with his overly-enthusiastic hug “How did it go? Did you _show them_??”
> 
> Obi-Wan remembered laughing, remembered Anakin’s soft, fluffy hair under his fingertips, remembered joking about how exactly he talked those politicians down from decisions which would have brought war to their home… but war didn’t matter in the moment. Anakin listened to him with hungry curiosity, and so he told him about everything he saw, about dark-purple sky, milky-white waters of the lake near the palace, built of translucent glass, about birds with four wings and plants of all shapes and sizes. 
> 
> “I also brought you something.”
> 
> A sweet puff-pastry with fruit filling and three large berries, which glowed a scarlet-red. 
> 
> Anakin stared in awe at the gift, eyes wide, and, for some unknown reason overcome with shyness, muttered a barely audible “thank you”. 

— in that moment, there was peace. And in that moment there was love; a true, pure feeling, which he cherished; which he carried unstained through the good times and the bad, through the Clone Wars, which he wished he could find still, when he thought of —

 _“The boy you trained, gone, he is. Consumed by Darth Vader,”_ that’s what Yoda told him, but no matter the ancient Master’s wisdom, Obi-Wan found it hard to believe it. A change of name meant nothing, really, when it came to the person one was, and now, here, on Tatooine, it was ever so clear. Darth Vader didn’t come out of nowhere, didn’t _kill_ his precious Padawan. Darth Vader _was_ his precious Padawan. 

_His Anakin_ , who failed to see the path to light and followed darkness. It was his fault, for not noticing in time… no. He knew, when it started. Whom it started with. He knew, who then fueled the flames and exploited his Padawan’s weakness. He wasn’t blind, and he never trusted Palpatine, even so… his trust in Anakin proved to be too much; he missed a breaking point, caught up in the fighting, the war.

Were the Jedi ever supposed to fight? To take sides? Republic or the Separatists, did it really matter, in the end? He had sworn his allegiance to the Republic, but if he knew that there was a Sith Lord at the heart of it, would he have stopped? Would he have left the Order? Would Qui-Gon have done it, were he to survive? Would he have taken Anakin with him, saving the Chosen One from this downfall, or would he have let the Force decide his fate?

His thoughts wandered yet again.

“Peace,” he reminded himself as he stood up to get a glass of water before returning to his favourite meditation spot, “That’s what you want to find, not answers”

He wouldn’t find answers anyway. His Force wasn't one of the prophets, it didn’t show him visions of the past nor did it show him the future. As day faded into night, and another day, and a night after that, he tried to recall the lightest, purest memories of Anakin.They weren’t all as happy, as the first one —

> — he remembered Anakin surrendering his lightsaber to him, telling about his resolve to leave the Order. It wasn't really hard for Obi-Wan to understand this desire, because… the boy knew life outside the Order. Saw other options, even behind his dream of becoming a Jedi, which was, up close, too far from a fairytale he imagined as a child: a hard life, a lonely fate. And despite the fact that he pleaded his Padawan to reconsider, he knew one thing. If Anakin decided to leave, he would have followed. His vow to Qui-Gon would have remained unbroken, but not because he had an _obligation,_ but because he never wished for Anakin to be alone. 

— in that moment his inner peace didn’t falter. Now he almost found himself wishing that his Padawan had not reconsidered, that they had left, and then, perhaps… ah, again, he was losing focus. 

He decided to take a break. He prepared food that tasted like nothing — didn’t remember nor making it, nor consuming it — ate it in silence, cleaned his home in silence, the Force around the desert swirling with worry, which wasn’t entirely his own. 

Who was this Cal Kestis, whose Force felt so familiar and yet so strange, who was almost transparent in color, except for such a familiar deep-blue of Anakin Skywalker? Who was his Master, before the Purge? Why did he look so exhausted, when another Jedi travelling by his side did not, despite the ongoing internal battle against the Dark?

“That’s none of my concern,” Obi-Wan whispered, head in his hands, trying to block the worry Force suggested. It wasn’t his emotion. He was past doubting his ability as a Jedi — _but he had failed Anakin, he was far too attached to his former Padawan still_ — past feeling _unworthy_. 

He reached out to feel Luke in the Force, safe, content, happy in his foster parent’s care; his presence far away, but very clear and familiar. He could concentrate on that. It certainly helped him dull the worry, the negative humm — _I won’t make it, it’s too hot, I won’t pass that test_ — of the desert sands. 

Another day went by. Another peaceful memory was found through his meditations. Another night and one more day. And one more meditation in search for his peace. 

Force almost yanked him out of his reverie about — he couldn’t recall anymore — he heard a weak knock at the door. Was that even real? He couldn’t sense anyone outside, except this echo of his Padawan, but…

Just outside his doorstep was a person, this boy, Cal Kestis, Mustafar-lava-color hair and yellow striped poncho, blood on his face and eyes shut, passed out on the sand, his tiny droid hopping from one spot to another restlessly. Wasn’t this boy… gone? Together with Master Junda? Did he spend all this time here, just outside?

He did. The angry sunburns spoke for themselves. Obi-Wan kneeled on the sand, carefully removed strands of hair from his forehead before gently lifting Cal from the ground. And it was then, at the very moment he touched him, when… _oh Force —_

> _— it was Anakin in his arms, and they were not on Tatooine, it was a different planet, too small to even be remembered; what happened? Have their shuttle been shot? It seemed so, yeah. Their shuttle was just a bit across the sands, and he… he remembered having a medkit, he had to… the plasma burns... —_

It wasn’t Anakin in his arms, and there were no plasma burns. It wasn’t Anakin, who clung to him, like a child, it was just… a stranger. A complete stranger, and yet…

> — _Anakin cried when he woke up in the Halls of Healing and realized what had happened to his right arm. His distress, his frustration, his feeling of helplessness were overwhelming through their bond, and the only thing Obi-Wan could do was offer him a hug, a kiss on a temple and whisper his name, as his padawan sobbed into his chest —_

He had to snap out of it and he did, although it did take plenty of effort not to slip into the cascade of memories — _so vivid they were almost visions_ — Cal Kestis for some reason was triggering. Minutes stretched to hours, but eventually, young man’s breathing evened out as he was, finally, asleep.

Obi-Wan laid him down on the bed. He decided not to invade his privacy and left his ammunition on — lightsaber, boots and all — but wrapped a blanket around him nonetheless. The nights were cold, after all.

It wasn’t his first time tending to somebody tormented by nightmares; the thing was, this time he knew exactly what the nightmares were about; the Force showed him _everything_ . The images hit him like a tidal wave — the light blue of his lightsaber, but now from a different perspective, through different eyes, _Anakin’s_ eyes.

“I hate you!” Cal screamed in his sleep, before gasping, jerking awake, breath unsteady, eyes wild, as he failed to understand where he was — perhaps even _who_ he was. 

Force, give him strength. This stranger _felt_ like Anakin in the Force, he was _seeing_ things Anakin saw. Obi-Wan had no idea why, no idea how that was even _possible_...

He did what he had to do, offering compassion and comfort to the one in need, shielding himself from the memories swirling in the air. It was hard, but he couldn’t leave the boy to suffer alone. 

When Cal woke up, it was already past noon. His droid beeped excitedly and jumped on the bed, nudging his master’s cheek.

“Hi, BD,” young man quietly whispered, looking around, puzzled, as if trying to figure out where he was, and how he got there. 

Obi-Wan met his gaze. He had been sitting across the room, legs crossed, arms resting on his knees. 

“Hello there.” he greeted his guest and Cal flinched.

“Master Kenobi… I…” 

“How do you feel?” 

“I’m okay.”

Obi-Wan smiled warmly, and stood up, but before he could take a step closer, Cal jumped to his feet, rummaging through his pockets under his poncho, and then, in swift, sudden movement, handed him — a piece of cotton cloth, beige in color, wrapped around something for protection, apparently —

“Master Kenobi, please, take me as your Padawan!” Cal stared at him, arms outstretched, holding out this piece of fabric, for Obi-Wan to take.

— it was a short Padawan braid, wrapped in what was once a Jedi tunic. Obi-Wan didn’t have to look to understand; he just knew what he would find should he take it.

“Doesn’t Master Junda... train you?” 

Cal lowered his eyes, his resolve crumbling under the question. 

“She did.”

“What happened? From what I gathered, you two got along well.”

“We did.”

“I sense uncertainty in your voice.”

“She _knighted_ me.”

Obi-Wan… could partially relate. He remembered how Qui-Gon forced his trials upon him in the middle of a council meeting, and although it was almost _about time_ he went through them, he still felt incredibly uneasy about the whole thing. He took a deep breath and gestured towards the table.

“Come, sit down. Let’s feed you first, then you’ll tell me why exactly you don’t trust Master Junda’s judgment of your abilities.”

Cal hung his head and gripped the fabric in his hand tighter, as he silently obeyed, sat down, eyes still downcast. He weakly smiled, as Obi-Wan placed a glass of blue milk and a plate with a flatbread and ahrisa on it in front of him.

“Eat up.”

Cal nodded and started eating, glancing up at Obi-Wan from time to time, as if waiting for any signs of disapproval. There was a long silence before he finally started talking. 

Cal didn’t go into details, his phrasing concise, as he tried to only mention facts and not emotions. The story of his crash-landing on Bracca after his Master’s death during the Purge, five years in the Scrapper Guild, then an incident bringing him and Master Junda — Cere — together, then the quest to find a holocron.

He stumbled when it came closer to his knighting. Tiptoed around the conversation which took place, torn between sharing what he’s been through and keeping his friend’s secrets. 

“It’s enough, Cal. I see what you mean.” Obi-Wan didn’t want to torture the young man before him, so he let him keep it to himself. He could partially understand the logic behind Master Junda’s actions: there was a suiside mission ahead of them. Becoming a Knight might have boosted Cal’s confidence in the short-term, but now… well. 

“In the Fortress, I met Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan grimaced at the name, but didn’t interrupt. 

“At some point during our fight, uhm, my and Cere’s _escape_ , he accidentally touched me. My hand. He tried to grip my lightsaber, and… that’s how I knew about. Well. You. And who he is. Was. I lost my peace ever since.”

“Anakin tends to have that effect on people, yes,” there was a hint of a chuckle in Jedi Master’s voice, a hint, at which Cal couldn’t help, but feel even smaller and more helpless than before. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Well… miraculously, we’ve made it. Then, destroyed a holocron. Spent some time in space, then on Bogano, you know. Healing. Celebrating. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw…” Cal’s voice hitched, broke. His eyes fixed on the piece of beige fabric on the table. He took a slow, deep breath, trying to regain composure, and continued, voice quiet, almost a whisper. “...your lightsaber, felt the flames. And I did what Master Tapal told me. I trusted in the Force. And it led me here.”

Obi-Wan stayed silent, looking at the young man before him with interest, but unsure of the Force’s intentions. It was clear, that it led Cal Kestis to him. Was he supposed to train this _boy_? Was he allowed to train anybody after failing Anakin? Was this the Force’s way of offering him redemption? 

“I didn’t tell Cere why I wanted to find you. She doesn’t need to know, who…” Cal bit his lip, and then, finally, lifted his eyes to meet Obi-Wan’s. “I need your help, Master Kenobi. I can’t meditate, I can’t sleep, I can’t distance myself from it all. I don’t have the skills of a Jedi Knight. I might be physically fit, my lightsaber skills might be good, but… I’m no Jedi Knight, but I wish to become one, so I beg you. Please.”

In the silence that followed, one could even hear the sound of the sand shifting outside the hut and the howling of the wind from miles away. Cal looked at Obi-Wan with such hope in his eyes, that there was no way of refusing him; the Force swirled around them, bluish, transparent feel of it almost pushing Obi-Wan’s hand towards the folded beige fabric, and yet… he hesitated. 

It wasn’t a decision he could take lightly, after all. Training someone meant visiting the city more often, meant more attention, meant potential danger. And Cal wasn’t just any Jedi. He, of all things, got into the holocron mess. Ruined Vader’s plans on finding Force-sensitive children, so the Empire _will_ look for him. Could Obi-Wan risk Luke’s safety, by accepting to train him? By allowing him to stay? 

Could he go against the will of the Force, could he leave this boy alone with his — _Anakin’s!_ — nightmares?

He stood up, found himself at the crossroads the Force laid in front of him and stalled there. 

“I’m going to Mos Espa to get supplies. Are you going with me, or would you rather stay and rest?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cal, he didn't get an answer! But worry not, things will get better <3


	4. Cal Kestis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cal's brain is too tired to function in this chapter

Cal didn’t know what he had expected. He understood that what he asked was a responsibility few could accept in a blink, and yet, he felt rejected. The Force swirled in the air, he could feel it, it reached out towards the other Jedi, who... ignored it. Pretended not to notice. Asked whether he would rather stay inside and sleep, or be back under the heat of the two suns. Another test, perhaps? If so, his resolve will not falter, but Force, he _really needed rest_.

He had enough time to think about whether or not to accept this invitation while staring in the mirror in the ‘fresher after taking a sonic shower. On the one hand, he looked exhausted. Prominent dark circles under his bloodshot eyes tempted him to stay; climb back into bed and curl under the blankets, close his eyes and just… slip into unconsciousness. For, perhaps, days, if that was possible. On the other hand… he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. That the nightmares — _the Force-visions_ — won’t let him. And he didn’t want to be regarded as _lazy,_ as someone who didn’t want to at least make an effort, or to offer to help, and thus… 

He quickly brushed his hair and dressed. 

_“Don't allow yourself to be weighed down by ego and pretense.” that’s what Master Tapal used to say, “Let go of what you fear to lose.”_

Cal doubted that he had anything left, except the fading light of his Force, and that… he stubbornly refused to let that go. 

His reflection gave him a wicked smile, green eyes glinted gold for just a fraction of a second, as it whispered:

“Let go.”

He blinked and turned away. A trip to Mos Espa sounded _very_ nice indeed. 

Master Kenobi waited for him at the same spot where he sat during their breakfast talk. In his stillness he resembled a statue; one of those on Zeffo, impeccable in their serenity and peace. There was beauty in this calm, which radiated off the Jedi’s presence, and Cal marvelled at how could one possibly be so —

Obi-Wan turned his head to face him, and the calm dissolved in the air, leaving behind no trace; the Force silent. 

“What’s your decision, Cal?”

“I’m going with you. I’d be glad to help out.” Cal replied; fully conscious of his lie. It wasn’t about being helpful, no. He was afraid to be left alone, simple as that, and he was sure that Master Kenobi saw right through his lie; even so, the smile that Jedi Master gave him, was filled with kindness. 

Mos Espa was located just across the desert — the Dune Sea, Master Kenobi called it — and it seemed to be endless. Clouds of dust rose from underneath the speeder as it zoomed across the sands, and Cal was a bit surprised at how fast the Jedi Master’s driving was. He didn’t expect… something like that. Kept forgetting, that they have all been at war, have all been used to high speeds and quick paces. He sat quietly behind him, eyes closed, allowing himself to get what little rest he could, given that they had no conversation going on anyway. He was almost enjoying the feel of the hot air against his skin, as he reached out with the Force — there was nothing for miles, and miles, and miles, and miles, only sand, and Master Kenobi’s calm presence beside him. 

The speeder came to an abrupt stop and Cal’s eyes flew open. 

“That’s not Mos Espa.”

“You are quite observant, young one,” Obi-Wan laughed, as he hopped off the speeder, graceful, steps soft against the rocky ground. Cal followed him clumsily, almost tripped on the rocks; he was just so sleepy, didn’t even care to be embarrassed.

A mountain range stretched before them, light sepias of the desert giving way to dark crimson browns; the looks of it almost resembled those of Dathomir. _Almost_ made Cal shiver at the memory of Malicos. 

“Follow me!” Master Kenobi called cheerfully, as he _oh-so-casually_ Force-jumped up a rock and continued upwards along a barely visible path, spring in his step.

Was he… genuinely happy to be here? If so, why? In the Force he was still calm, just like back in the desert, surely Cal was tired, but he couldn’t be imagining things _to that extent_. He sighed and followed along. Didn’t Force-jump. Climbed his way up. There was no point showing off, he reasoned, and he… truly, he wasn’t really adept at those types of acrobatics; if he needed to get somewhere, he’d rather climb than Force-fling himself to whatever destination. 

Obi-Wan took a sudden right turn and jumped down. Cal was careful to follow him. He looked around first: there was a rope hanging from above, he could probably climb back up, in case he needed it. It also wasn’t very far down. The cave before him wasn’t dark — it was more of a canyon, than a cave, to be fair, from where he stood he could see that this place was frequently visited — the remains of a campfire, several training remotes neatly sitting in a row near it. He didn’t know why he hesitated to follow, but after a moment, he went for a jump as well. Flashed a careful smile at Obi-Wan, almost waiting for an explanation. 

“I trust you have your own lightsaber?” Jedi Master said, as he did some kind of an odd movement with his shoulders — the brown cloak he was wearing fell to the ground — and he stood there, ‘saber in hand, eyes glinting in the light of two suns. 

That was just _so extra_ , why do _that_ when he could have taken the cloak off in a much less _striking_ manner, that for a moment Cal just stood there, dumbfounded by this slip of _personality_ over the serene facade of the Jedi, before the realization of what exactly was happening slowly caught up to him. 

“Is that a test, Master Kenobi?”, he asked, before reaching for his own lightsaber hilt and fiddling with controls, tuning it down to training mode. 

“Only if you want it to be.”

So, it was a test. 

Cal took a deep breath and tried to focus, as he heard the sound of the lightsaber ignition. The color was the same one he saw in his nightmares, blue. Much reacher blue, than his almost white pale-cyan.

“A double-bladed one? Interesting choice.” came the remark, as Cal ignited his own weapon.

Not fighting for his life should have been a nice change of pace, but it wasn’t. He didn’t feel at ease, not at all. Surely it wasn’t his life at stake, but now he felt that the outcome of this sparring was about to decide his fate. He wasn’t expecting to _win this_ , no, he knew too well that he was fighting a former general; a Jedi Master, a Council member, but he thought… 

He fought Malicos on Dathomir. The Ninth Sister, and then, Trilla, their power amplified by the Dark side of the Force. He was confident that he was no weakling, but…

Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t _look_ as intimidating as other opponents Cal has faced. There was a moment, several seconds where he stood perfectly still, his left hand stretched forward, as if feeling the Force in front of him, lips quirked upwards in a sort of almost playful smile. He let Cal have the first move. It was deflected with ease, just as _almost_ playfully, and then, there was not a fraction of a second when Obi-Wan stood still anymore, as Cal tried to get to his defences, with no luck — not even close, not even even a _mile_ close to doing so. 

The duel kept on going, stretched, as Master Kenobi waltzed away from his attacks, dodged Force-pushes and used Cal’s Force-pulls to his advantage, never once breaking eye-contact, kept his distance for which seemed to Cal like hours. He was sweating, tired already, _almost angry_ — at himself, for not doing better, and in general, because it was taking _just so long_ , this pitch-perfect Soresu, wearing him down _exactly_ like it should have — but remained calm. Concentrated. 

And then, Obi-Wan turned offencive. 

And _that_ was _intense_. 

Cal didn’t even have time to blink — Kenobi sprung up, ended up behind him, circled him and in a single swift movement — he was cornered, a blade of blue light stopped an inch from his neck. 

“I failed,” Cal muttered sadly. 

“Did you?”

“Were it a real battle, I would have been dead, so, yeah. I did.”

Obi-Wan lowered his lightsaber and gave Cal a disapproving glance, but the reason behind it remained a mystery. 

“Can we try again?” 

“If you wish so, young one.”

The result that try yielded was, in essence, the same. Cal found himself at his back, on the ground, his ‘saber somewhere far out of reach. Kind eyes looked at him with compassion and sympathy, as a blade of bright blue light pointed at his chest. 

“Again!” Cal called, as he jumped to his feet, desperate for yet another chance. 

Master Kenobi’s lightsaber never once even grazed his skin, always stopped an inch away, and a remark came: “you lost an arm here”, “that would have hurt”, “definitely should have blocked that”, which spoke _volumes_ of just how much control he had over his actions, despite how quick and intense they seemed. Cal couldn’t even begin to understand what it took — to be so perfect. Time and time again he was cornered, only to get up again, to overcome the pain in his muscles, the exhausted feeling and the trembling of his hands. 

His breath was ragged, it almost hurt. His hands trembled, as he clutched his lightsaber tighter. 

“Cal, maybe, it’s _enough_ ?” Obi-Wan’s voice was even, steady. Something inside Cal found this almost _mocking_ him. 

“No, Master. _Again!_ ”

Now there was anger burning inside him, as he blocked the first strike and pushed forward, the Force showing him what was to happen seconds before it did, he could rely on that, sure, but he wasn’t quick enough to react, wasn’t quick enough to parry, wasn’t good enough… 

It didn’t matter how hard he tried. 

Or how many times.

He would never pass that test.

It had been his only hope to survive. To stop the torture his life now was, to learn how to block the past from his mind. He will have to give up on that. Leave. What choice did he have, now, other than that? He knew exactly where the terror and fear would lead him. 

_— his light would fade and he — he would find himself in the darkness, unable to run, unable to find his light, unable to do anything at the presence of the_ demon _who once shined so brightly… but. This demon wouldn't hurt him,_ oh no-no-no _, because… because he could bring him something far more valuable than force-sensitive children. His former Master, wouldn’t that be just a perfect turn of events? And he would show this Jedi what it was like — this feeling, this weakness, this desperation, this terror of being not good enough — and he would scream his name, beg him to stop, because the Inquisitors knew their way around torture, and the blue of his Force will bleed into red —_

“Cal! Cal, are you alright?” 

He blinked. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He wasn’t alright, not at all. He dropped his lightsaber, when the Force-vision overtook him, he was physically shaking and what was worse, so much worse, he knew that he had _failed_. Not only in combat, but emotionally. Let fear take the best of him. 

Eyes downcast, he picked up his weapon from the ground and secured it on his belt. Obi-Wan, in turn, picked up his cloak from where he left it and also grabbed a training remote. (Cal didn’t know why he would need to take it from here. Did he plan on selling it in Mos Espa?) 

They made it all the way back to the speeder in silence. 

“Stop overthinking it, Cal. From what I can say, you did great.”

Cal didn’t believe it, but felt too tired to argue. He had to think of a way to get out of the planet once Master Kenobi informed him of his decision not to accept him as a padawan. How foolish of him was to hope — 

It took some time to get to Mos Espa, but they were finally there. The market was vast, it stretched across the streets of the space-port like a lichen, aliens haggling over spare parts, spices, food — even _slaves_ , but Cal tried not to notice that. He was almost a slave himself once, on Bracca, a branding tattoo still on his arm, will never come off, not that he ever tried to remove it. Perhaps, that was all he was worth, after all. All he was good at — _oh Force_ , what was he to do?

He followed Obi-Wan silently, only half-noticing that he was getting more and more things on his hands — spare parts, then a set of tableware, some dried bantha meat, a packet of powdered milk, a bedroll and spare blanket. Their last stop was a jewellery trader; the most intricately braided chains of all shapes and sizes gleamed in the sunlight, all the colors of gold and silver. There were beads too, made from gemstones, blue, purple, yellow, red — any colour, really. 

Master Kenobi studied the selection for a long time, longer, than he had when choosing anything else they’ve been after, before settling on one diamond-shaped bead — it was a tame color, very unsaturated green. The trader named a price, and there wasn’t _any_ haggling after that, although Cal could easily tell that the bead was far, _far_ overpriced. 

Still, he failed to care.

“This is goodbye, then,” he said softly as he helped Obi-Wan to place the purchases on the speeder. 

That got him a very questioning look. 

“Well, I’ve clearly failed your test. You aren’t taking me as your…” Cal looked around, understanding that he had to be careful with words “...apprentice, that much I gathered from today. And if I stay, I will only bring you more trouble.”

He felt a knot tighten inside his chest, his eyes almost hurting with tears, but none fell. It was the end of his journey, and now, his only path was to run. He will find a ship, he will run as far away from the people he knows, from the Empire… to the place as far away as he can find. And he will never stop, never. He will run until he can’t anymore, and he… he won’t let the darkness catch up. He’d rather die than risk becoming what the Force had shown him today.

“I haven’t rejected you, Cal Kestis. And I don’t think I’ve done anything that would have shown otherwise.”

For some reason Cal was afraid to look up. Afraid, that his ears deceived him. That he, perhaps, has misinterpreted. Hope wasn’t something that he could afford, not really, not now, when…

“I _will_ train you.”

He felt Obi-Wan’s hand on his, the gentle touch soft and comforting against his skin.

“Come now, _padawan_.”


	5. Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG guys, when I first started writing this, I never expected the amount of positive feedback I'd get (I expected, like, zero views), espesially considering that this is, what, rare pair 2020? lol, it's still the only fic in the tag!
> 
> AND I've found an amazing ugh, variation, I guess, on the music in the title, so if you want, you can check it out.  
> https://youtu.be/un8SQeq_1_Y

His Padawan cried all the way back across the Dune Sea. The speeder’s engine roar somehow muffled his weepings, but nothing could have been done with the tears making their way through the layers of fabric on his shoulder, where Cal chose to bury his face.

In a way, Obi-Wan had no idea what to do in a situation, such as this. Were Cal a child, he would have offered him comfort; a hug, perhaps, and then a lecture about the nature of emotions and the ways to deal with them. A guided meditation, perhaps — but Cal wasn’t a child. He looked around twenty years old, maybe even younger than that, although Obi-Wan didn’t want to think in that direction, and by that age Jedi were supposed to be able to keep their emotions in check —

— but it wasn’t the slip of emotion that was so overwhelming. Anakin gave him a fair share _of that_ at the time. 

It was the emotion itself. As Cal Kestis started crying, his mental shields slipped; the stress finally caught up with him, perhaps, as they got on the speeder and left the city, there was nothing left of them now, and his every thought was left on the surface. 

Obi-Wan has never felt such _gratitude_ from anyone; it felt like there was enough to fill the _universe_ with it. And if at first he thought about stopping and having a talk with him, preaching about the Code and the Jedi Way, that thought was now long gone; he will let Cal have his moment, because there was no darkness in his tears, only purity and endless devotion. He wrapped his Force around the boy securely; held him. 

_He could almost see his own reflection in Cal Kestis now, of his own happiness at the realisation of finally being chosen by his own Master — even though their stories weren’t the same at all._

Dusk was falling rapidly, as they made their way through the desert, merely making it in time before dark finally settled above the sands. 

Obi-Wan had hoped that Cal would have calmed by now, but alas; the boy did make the effort to stifle his sobs, yet to no avail: his whole body trembled as he stumbled off the speeder and tried to… regain control over overflowing emotions, leaning against the wall for support. Obi-Wan touched the fabric of the tunic on his shoulder, where Cal’s face rested a minute ago; it was soaked through with tears, warm against his skin. He watched the boy failing to gather himself together, watched him slowly sinking to the sands, tormented with emotion, unable to rule it in, despite it being made of light itself, it seemed. 

The wind hummed far away, sang a chant which sounded almost like a warning to those who cared enough to listen — a storm was coming, and perhaps, this was also a reason behind his — _now his_ — Padawan’s inability to calm down. For a second, he considered whether it would be better to leave their things on the speeder as they were and clean the sand off them tomorrow, but then… Cal will have to sleep somewhere, and eat something, and there was no guessing how long the storm would last, so —

He quickly carried everything inside, while still keeping an eye on Cal, before — _finally_ , _because the howling of the wind was indeed getting louder, and the sandstorm closer_ —

“Cal, look at me. It’s alright, let’s go,” words laced with the Force, and it wouldn’t have had any effect, if Cal’s mind wasn’t so open now, so vulnerable. There were no shields, no defences — nothing, just as if they had never been there; just as if it was not a twenty-year-old Jedi in front of him, but a youngling, a child, just brought to the temple.

He helped Cal to get to his feet and lead him inside. He looked at him, his red face and swollen eyes, trembling shoulders, almost choking on his weepings. He kneeled before the boy, and took his ungloved hand. 

“Meditate with me.” 

Cal nodded and practically fell beside him, arms outstretched in an almost pleading gesture.

Deep breath in, then, seconds later, deep breath out. It was easy for Obi-Wan to clear his mind and slip into meditation, feel another’s Force beside him, the rough, tangled feel of it, as he crossed over where his mind ended and his Padawan’s began. 

It was like bathing in light; light so bright it hurt to look at. Joy so intense, so overwhelming it was torture. It was as if something inside Cal broke, shattered like a crystal, yet it wasn’t impossible to put the pieces back together. Obi-Wan was doing it alone at first, almost painfully aware of how uneven the boy’s breath was, but then Cal managed to find his way around the vast, blinding, endless white. 

His breath evened out gradually, and with it, the blinding light slowly gave way to formless grays and subtle blues, leaving only hints of colors and emotions; there was, finally, peace. 

In peace, they sat for some more time, and Obi-Wan could feel Cal’s steady pulse, hear the sound of his now quiet and steady breathing, and the storm raging outside — _humming_ — singing them a lullaby.

When he opened his eyes, Cal had already been looking at him. 

“Thank you, Master Kenobi,” he whispered with a shy smile, before standing up, movements unsure, as if wanting to ask about something, yet ever so hesitant.

Obi-Wan, in turn, had his own questions. 

“Tell me, Cal, would you like to _continue_ your training, or start it anew? I’m fine with either choice you make,” he asked, as he got up as well, starting sorting through the things they got at the market. Cal was at his side instantly — to offer his help, although little was required. 

“I would like to honour the training I did with Master Tapal, to continue it, if you’d allow” his voice was careful, but firm.

“Give me your braid and sit down.” 

The faded fabric of a Jedi tunic was warm against his hand, the feel of it electrifying, as the Force swirled around, its intention now almost too clear. Inside the fabric was a braid. A short one, matted with time, hair so, _so_ soft. It was cut at an angle, seemingly in a hurry — no wonder, given the circumstances Cal was in. It seemed only fitting to unplait it with as much care as possible.

He took a comb and brushed through his Padawan’s hair; Cal tilted his head slightly, eyes fluttering shut, breath held, if only for a second. His lips moved, as if trying to form words, but none eventually came and he stilled. Calm. Quiet. Content with what was happening, as Obi-Wan carefully braided his hair, tightly weaving what was left of an old Padawan braid onto them, Force intertwining between the strands.

It felt right. _Right_ to the point that Obi-Wan knew — should he release his hold on the braid now, run a comb through Cal’s hair again, the strands on his temple would be long, as if never severed — the Force’s way of showing its will. 

A faded-green bead caught light reflected from the glossy cerulean tableware and sparkled in the dusky undertones of the nightfall; it looked so fitting against pale skin of Cal’s neck just under his ear, as if it was meant to be there, as if — as if it has always been. Cal’s hair wasn’t long enough to make a ponytail; so there wasn’t much to do after the braid was finished, and Obi-Wan gently ran his fingers through his Padawan’s hair — gesture affectionate and warm.

They meditated again after that, several hours into the night, as the humm of the storm outside gradually fell silent. Until there was no emotion left, only peace, serenity and harmony, until Cal’s presence in the Force wasn’t the blue of Anakin Skywalker, but more of his own whitish cyan; like the rivers of Alderaan, freshwaters of the sacred springs, transparent, reflecting light in a way no jewel ever could. 

Their minds were still brushing against each other as they sorted through the things they brought from Mos Espa, in complete silence, and Obi-Wan could practically feel his Padawan’s smile. 

“You need to rest,” he told Cal fondly, before gesturing to the bedroll and a pillow. They still needed to find a spot for all this, even temporary one — Cal didn’t seem to see the problem, as he spread the mattress on the floor, near the front door, and tossed the pillow on top of it. 

Well, that solved it; although Obi-Wan would have never suggested this spot for someone to sleep onto; found it a little — almost on verge of an insult — uncivilized, and was he to suggest a spot, he would, perhaps, have moved the table. Well, they will have plenty of time to do it now, that Cal stayed. 

> That night he dreamt of Mustafar again; but there was no duel there. Instead, he fought dosens stormtroopers there; cut his way through, pushed groups of them into rivers of lava, as his mind sang a song he didn’t recognize to muffle their screams of agony and fear; their taunts, for which he sometimes fell. Then, he wandered around the empty wasteland, chasing something. A vision, a feeling — an echo in the Force, and his soul hurt at not understanding where to go next — and then he found it, and then — he was standing at the platform and staring — the blinding bright-blue of _his own_ lightsaber, and he — _no, Anakin, don’t!_ — leaps forward, and then the pain and he drops down, and then… 
> 
> He sees his own face, twisted with emotion which no Jedi should ever experience.
> 
> _“I hate you!”_

He jerked awake, from a nightmare that wasn’t entirely his own, and looked around, only to find Qui-Gon standing in the middle of the room, eyes distant, just as always, but looking directly at Cal, tossing and turning in his sleep, blanket gripped in his fists so tightly one could hear the sound of fabric ripping. 

“I see you’ve picked up a pathetic lifeform,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan was already opening his mouth to argue that Cal wasn’t _pathetic_ when he recognized his own line.

He slowly exhaled and looked up at his Master. Calmly. 

“It was the Force’s will.”

“So I see.”

Both stayed silent for a long moment before Obi-Wan decided to speak again. 

“He’s _projecting_ it, isn’t he? This dream I had, was his.”

“Quite so. But it’s more of a memory, than a dream; laced with the Force. I would have called it a prophecy, were it not about things bygone.”

“I think he saw something when we were training yesterday.” Obi-Wan then proceeded to tell his Master about what happened — how strange the Force had shifted around Cal, as he all but choked on the air mid-step and froze in place, eyes wide-open, for just a fraction of a second, before blinking back to reality. “But I also wouldn’t trust his perception of anything back then; he was too tired, lost in thoughts. If what I saw was something to judge by, I’m not sure I understand just _how_ he made it this far.”

“He has resolve. The Force is with him.” Qui-Gon sighted and gave Obi-Wan _the look. “_ Then, of course, there are _stims_ and a crew turning a blind eye.”

Stims. This explained some things about Cal, but nothing exactly clicked into place; stims were drugs; drugs widely used during the war, legal, but the question was in quantity and duration of usage. The Jedi _rarely_ relied on them, meditation usually proving to be a much better way to keep on going, yet… Cal was young, and perhaps didn’t master that skill just yet, more so, he was _untrained_ , his skills — those of a thirteen-year-old Padawan. And having a body of a different age didn’t matter. 

How a thirteen-year-old Padawan fought battalions of stormtroopers _alone_ was beyond Obi-Wan's understanding, and yet… he knew _just how_. It was written across Cal’s face, emotions so clear in his nightmare, so much fear, only half his own, and half of it — 

No matter. 

He crossed the room and pressed the back of his hand against his Padawan’s forehead in an attempt to share his serenity with him, without waking him up. It was something he did back when Anakin was a child still, and he could only hope he still had this skill in tact, he could almost feel Qui-Gon’s piercing eyes on him, but when he turned to meet his stare the Force-ghost was already gone. Indeed, just like the wind. And Cal... At the very least, his grip on the blanket relaxed and the frown was gone from his face. 

There will be a lot to talk about during the day, and now… well, he might have enough time to pay a visit to the Lars’ family, as the new day dawned. The thought of feeling Luke’s presence closeby made Obi-Wan smile fondly. The thought of arguing with his uncle, however, made him frown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> illustration is done by @/wfraem on twitter 
> 
> aaaaand Obi-Wan isn't making the wisest decision here, 'cuz in the morning somebody will be feeling a bit lost


	6. Anakin Skywalker |&| Cal Kestis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owo  
> wow look who makes an entrance

_That night he dreamt of Mustafar again,_ the traces of a dream ripped to shreds, because even after all those years sleep wasn’t something he could _really_ do. He didn’t _rest_ , not ever, but the time he spent in bacta tanks was not to be wasted — and consciousness slipped into this, this slumber. 

Vader prefered meditations to that — they, at the very least, were controlled, and he could choose what his mind showed him and how exactly things unfurled, but dreams — oh sweet dreams were overrated. Even if vivid, they always had the shattered feel to them, as if he was looking down at pieces of a broken mirror, which reflected only fractions of things bygone, of things he had seen before. Sharp edges hurt, re-living the Jedi’s betrayal hurt, but hurt was his constant companion, and the colours of lava and ashes weren’t an unwelcome sight, not anymore. 

Mustafar was just another planet in the Empire. There was nothing special in it, but despite this, in this _pathetic excuse for a dream_ he felt something amiss. A presence, just behind the edges — the almost translucent turquoise trace in Force — a Jedi, spying on him, _how dare —_

His rage washed over the landscape, like an avalanche, but made of fire, and the intruder took cover — behind the traces of ash, molten durasteel and shards of broken mirror Vader was looking into — but didn’t withdraw; it was then Vader recognized him. 

> _“You would be wise to surrender”_
> 
> _“Yeah. Probably.”_
> 
> He fought valiantly after — unskilled, but vigorous, didn’t let the other Jedi by his side give in to the temptation of the Dark, and oh, this drive, the mere fact that his resolve didn’t falter even as he had his own ignited lightsaber burning a hole through his chest — those qualities would have made him a perfect inquisitor. But it seemed fear and pain were not just right to break him. 

Another question was, what an unskilled Jedi was doing here, in his dream? Was it, perhaps, by accident? If so, he couldn’t afford to lose this chance. Skilled or not, Kestis was still a Jedi, and Jedi should be dead. Or, if they wanted to escape such a fate, _fallen_. And this one had a friend. At least one. Maybe more.

He watched from afar at how Cal Kestis curled on the ground near a pool of lava, breathing in ashes, how he looked at his hands and feet as he stood up — as if to make sure they were still attached to his body — how he wandered around the emptiness which has never really been a part of Mustafar, planet busy with all kinds of droids and production lines, but apparently, all those were of no interest for his, _uh_ , guest.

“What _are_ you looking for?” he decided to call, and the sound of his voice made them both flinch — Kestis did it from surprise, and Vader from disgust — unmodulated, twisted by the dreamscape his mind engineered despite his best interest. So, he was _Skywalker_ in this one, then. A murky, dead, _pathetic_ version of himself. Maybe it was for the best. At the very least he wouldn’t spook Kestis away. Will be able to lure him in. 

_Will be able to use Skywalker to his advantage_.

But _alas_ the Force around them swelled with fear as he approached the Jedi — even more intense that back there in the Fortress. Recognition flashed in Kestis’ eyes, the feeling _cold_ , the man before him was ever so scared — he was no fool, this one, wasn’t the one to trust a pretty face — and there it was, an answer, he was no spy, didn’t come here on purpose, never _wanted_ to meet again, but _oh how cruel the Force could sometimes be, right?_

Kestis took a step back, then another. He was standing on the very edge of a rock, behind him — a durasteel platform, which trembled under the wind — it wouldn’t have, were it all real, but in a dream, durasteel could be as fragile as Cal Kestis wanted it to be. And Vader let him give in to his fear, as he advanced, pushed him further, made him take another step back and then one more, onto the platform, yeah, _just right_. 

The metal creaked under their weight, as parts of it fell down into the lava river and sparks flew up, so high that some of them landed on Kestis’s poncho, burned holes in dusty white and yellow canvas. 

“Lucky it didn’t catch fire,” he looked the Jedi in the eyes, the dull green color dusted with not just fear now — terror, and reached out to grab Kestis by the throat, but —

— sometimes it _so happened_ , that terror was simply too strong to bear. Cal Kestis held his stare for only a moment before making a sound — a strangled noise of distress which was supposed to be either a laugh or a scream, but turned out to be neither — and allowing himself to fall down, into the molten hell his imagination painted the burning vermillion red. 

There were no traces of the transparent cyan left in his half-dream-half- _whatever_ that was, so there was little purpose in dwelling in it anymore. 

He will, however, have to look into that connection he shared with this Kestis guy in more detail later. It might as well prove useful at some point, even if he didn’t see _how exactly_ right about now. 

With a huff which sent bubbles up the bacta, Vader opened his eyes and pondered whether or not he should tell Sidious about this _most peculiar_ dream. 

***

Cal didn’t wake up, he _ripped_ himself from sleep, eyes wide, breath unsteady, memories of his encounter with Skywalker all too vivid — those golden eyes, the hatred in them, the pure, molten burning feeling overpowering to the point where he knew — had he stared in them a second too long he would be gone, and not just dead, but consumed, devoured whole by the dark. 

BD-1 nudged at his side and beeped worriedly, at which Cal sighted. He… knew that he wasn’t at his best for the past few days, and his droid friend was right to worry. Had every right to, and yet, once more, Cal brushed him off with a simple “I’m okay, buddy!”

For a moment he felt as though he finally had enough rest to function just fine, as he looked around and got dressed, trying his best to keep sand from getting everywhere — he couldn’t quite understand how, but it even got inside his mouth. 

The feeling of being well-rested disappeared as he made his way to the kitchen, and BD jumped up on his shoulder. 

“I really could use a stim,” Cal said, noticing a datapad left on the table. There must have been a message there.

“Beep boop”

“I know, buddy. We might ask Master Kenobi when he returns, but I don’t think…” 

“Boo-be-beep!”

“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right. Anyway, he left us a message, let’s see, hmm, what’s this…”

There wasn’t _much_ there. Apart from “feel yourself at home” and “I will be back shortly”, there was no information whatsoever, and perhaps, Cal thought, this was his Master’s old habit. He didn’t like the notion of being left alone, and instinctively reached out to tug on his padawan braid — it was still there, the feel of it somehow reassuring. 

He looked through the cupboards, unsure of what exactly passed as breakfast on a desert planet such as Tatooine, and what was he supposed to eat, how much water could he drink or where did it come from, exactly. Despite being accepted as Padawan, he still was thinking of himself as an inconvenience, of sorts, so, abusing someone’s hospitality wasn’t on his list of activities. 

He decided that half-a-glass of water will suffice; a bit of blue powdered milk made it even better, sweet and rich tasting, and as for food, well, a flatbread was fine. BD tried to disagree, beeping about that he used to eat more on Mantis, but Cal told him that he used to move more on Mantis too.

_Not true though; yesterday’s duel — or training — was just as intense._

Staring into his glass he wondered if the dream he had was just that — a dream. And whether he should tell Master Kenobi about it. Anakin Skywalker wasn’t a topic for a casual conversation, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the man who was… kind enough to let him stay despite the trouble he could potentially bring. But he couldn’t stop thinking… what if it wasn’t? It was the first time he wasn’t re-living Skywalker’s fate on Mustafar, but meeting him instead, _saw him_ , the first time Skywalker talked to him, even if those were just two lines, a taunt, and a question. A disturbing one at that, as if he, too, didn’t understand what was going there. If that was a nightmare, a Sith lord wouldn’t be asking him questions like that, no, Cal thought that Skywalker he knew would have gone straight for the kill, and not watched him for… for how long was he watched? He had no idea. He sure had to do something to distract himself; fear led to anger, and anger… well, the Dark side, so, no, thanks. 

As he chewed on a dry flatbread, his glance fell on the training remote which sat on the chest near the wall. Oh. _Oh_ . He knew _just what_ he would be doing today. He jumped to his feet — regretted it, as his head started spinning — and crossed the room. As he took the remote he felt another echo — he saw Master Kenobi, wielding his lightsaber among the sands in the same canyon they had trained yesterday, training, a calm, concentrated look on his face — it brought a smile to Cal's face. He will practice. 

He wanted to go outside at first, but then remembered about the secrecy — the light of a ‘saber will be seen for miles in the desert, and he didn’t want to give out their location — so he will have to stay indoors. This meant that he won’t be able to use his second blade, for he feared it might scratch at the walls, but did it really matter? 

If he was honest with himself, he wanted to master all forms of lightsaber combat, because, well — he actually felt that he needed to get better at every field; life showed him that there were many horrible things that could happen; being _stuck_ wielding only a weapon of choice meant defeat. Death. 

So, he quickly moved the table a bit further to the wall, to give himself more space, fiddled with the remote’s controls, and then tossed it up. His hold on the lightsaber was still unsteady for some reason — he couldn’t get why it was, why his body was shaking, there was a twitch in his arm that just refused to go away — he gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. It was probably nothing, just a week under the burning sun. 

He deflected the charges shot at him easily at first, but then it proved to be more of a challenge, as the training session progressed. His concentration slipped once, then twice, as pinchy charges reached their target — first his leg and then his shoulder. Were it real blaster fire, he would have been on the ground, but now… well, there was barely any pain, just frustration at his own weakness and lack of skill. 

Cal took another deep breath and tried his best to calm down. Blocked another shot, and then one more. And another one after that, his mind remaining calm, thoughts almost elsewhere, counting grains of sand outside, reaching out for the calm presence of Master Kenobi, almost too far away to make out, his mind carefully shielded, more so than before, actually. 

It made sense, of course, to be more mindful of your thoughts around other people; the question was, what was his Master doing? Why didn’t he take Cal with him? 

_“It’s because,” his mind helpfully suggested, “you were such a mess yesterday. Because you cried on his shoulder, even younglings don’t do that. It’s because he has no reason to trust you even with the smallest of assignments.”_

It was, in fact, true. He will have to do much, much better, if he wanted to prove himself; at least be more grounded in his emotions; it really wasn’t a problem for him before, but somehow after all what happened… well. 

Another breath in, another breath out, as he pushed through the tremble in his body, as he willed his hands to stop shaking, and parried charge after charge, trying his best to rely not on his vision, but on his reflexes and the Force, trust it, let it flow freely through him, then, maybe, his stubborn body would _finally cooperate —_

He was concentrating on his training to such an extent that the sound of the door behind him opening startled him. 

He missed a charge, it hit him straight in the face; he would have fallen straight on his butt, if not for —

“Whoa there!”

— it was Master Kenobi, who caught his fall. 

So much for proving himself to his Master, Cal thought, as he rubbed his cheek and got back to his feet, catching the training remote from the air and putting it back from where he took it. 

“I see you had quite a productive time while I was gone.”

It was a praise, but it didn’t sound like one. There was something unsaid, lingering behind the words, behind the endless compassion shining in Master Kenobi’s eyes. 

“I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. And yesterday you defeated me effortlessly, so I gathered that I had to practice more,” Cal reasoned quietly, keeping his eyes down. 

“Did you eat anything before that?”

“Um, yes. Why do you have to ask me that, Master Kenobi?” 

There was a long moment of silence before next words were spoken, and Cal knew that — well, that the eyes looking at him were full of pity; and that was the exact reason why he was so reluctant to glance up. 

“Hold out your arm, Cal.”

He didn’t falter, but in the end, it didn’t matter. His arm was steady as long as he concentrated on the Force around and within him, as long as his concentration didn’t slip away, but his Master’s next request was to let that go — and there it was; his hand started shaking the second he relaxed it.

“Do you know what this means?” Master Kenobi’s voice was calm, just as it always seemed to be; as Jedi’s voice should always be. 

“That I’m weak. That I must try harder.” 

Master Kenobi shook his head. 

“You misinterpret, Padawan. It’s not because you’re weak, it’s because _you need to rest._ ” 

“But…” Cal looked up, feeling defiant for a reason he himself couldn’t name, and yet was quickly silenced — a gentle touch on his wrist was more than his temper could bear. 

“You’ve been through hell, Cal, I know that. That you’ve used every last bit of what strength you had to get out of there. It’s over now. You don’t have to run anymore, you can _allow_ yourself to rest.”

“Master Kenobi, I don’t feel tired, really. That shakiness — I really don’t understand why that is, I promise, it’s nothing to worry about, I probably just…” 

He trailed off, unsure of what to say next, and his Master didn’t pressure him to continue. Let the issue go, but made it clear that there will be no physical training until — well, until he decides that his Padawan rested _enough_. In the meantime, there were other things to do, just one of them — ancient texts Cal could read, and plenty of them. 

“If you are so eager to learn, you can start reading right now, while I make you some proper food.”

It was over lunch — bantha soup — when Master Kenobi gave him a full-lengh talk on the overuse of healing stims; he was very considerate and tactful, of course, managed to navigate Cal through the conversation without him feeling the sharp sting of guilt. The bottom line was — he did what he had to. To stay alive. He didn’t have to rely on stims anymore. 

It would take time for him to recover, but his Master already had plans on his training, so it seemed. Meditation was the second thing on the list, right after reading. Cal couldn’t say that he was exactly thrilled, but he didn’t mind. In the end, it was what he came here for — finding inner peace of mind — yet, it wasn’t peace his Master asked him to search for. Not explicitly, at least. 

There were no words of Jedi wisdom, no reciting of the Jedi code, none of that. 

“Close your eyes.”

His test was to feel each object in the room, feel them through the Force and _keep them in place_ , as the other Jedi tugged at them randomly; sometimes physically, sometimes through the Force, sometimes _both_. 

To Cal’s surprise, it turned out to be almost easy to find serenity in concentration. This serenity, however, was just as easily lost by the nightfall, when it was time to go to sleep. And it was then he decided to finally tell about the dream he had; still, he wasn’t straightforward about it. Didn’t tell the exact details, didn’t tell about _Skywalker,_ just _being watched,_ unsafe in general. 

“I was wondering, perhaps… can the Sith even do that? Spy on people like that.”

“I’m afraid I cannot give you a definite answer to that, Padawan. I’m inclined to say that they can,” Master Kenobi fell silent for a moment, eyes distant, almost sad, as if he was remembering things long lost. When he spoke again, sadness lingered in his voice.

“I don’t think it’s worth worrying about, though. If a _Sith_ was indeed spying on you, you probably wouldn’t have noticed, and neither would I. But I will help you with your shields tonight, if you want.”

Cal nodded. He hoped it would help. 

It did. 

On that night Mustafar in his dreams was just as empty as the Tatooine desert around their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UwU  
> Cal is such a diligent Padawan, Obi-Wan should be just so proud.


	7. Obi-Wan Kenobi

His Padawan was the most peculiar creature. The one of admirable strength, of rare will, so eager to learn and yet so tame. 

Obi-Wan didn’t expect to find him doing katas: when he had been opening the door, he was careful to do so quietly. Qui-Gon mentioned stims; withdrawal meant severe lack of energy, and to refill it, one needed sleep. Obi-Wan remembered clone troopers missing for weeks after especially physically taxing campaigns — sleeping it off, and then still coming back with dark circles under their eyes. He remembered his own experience with it too; how drained he felt after the effects of the drug wore off, and it was just a one-time use. He couldn’t imagine how bad it would be for someone who was on the drug for... how long, exactly? 

He knew nothing about his new apprentice, who all but fell into his arms as he entered the room. Unexpected. Surprising, even. That drive, that desire to get better — not many Jedi had that level of self-motivation. What exactly was Cal trying to achieve here? Why was he so reluctant to admit that he was — and indeed he was, evidently so, to an extent beyond what Obi-Wan could imagine possible — tired. Cal went as far as to deny it straight in his face.

It didn’t matter though, not really. It’s not like Obi-Wan would allow the boy to hurt himself now that he was in his care. He didn’t want to make it into an argument, so he let it go, but ‘saber training was to be postponed until later. Cal will have to recover first. Regain his strength. Until then... there were many things to do for a Jedi apprentice that did not involve a lot of physical activity. They will have to concentrate on that. 

Cal Kestis was a mystery, of sorts. Didn’t talk much, if at all, unless prompted, kept his eyes low most of the time, and listened to his Master’s every word. His curiosity, however, sometimes shined through. He asked a question, and then a follow-up, and then another, there seemed to be a myriad of questions hidden behind his usual silence — _so much like Anakin_ — about the Force, about the Order, about the very nature of things, but _unlike Anakin_ at his age, the purpose of those questions was not to challenge the authority; it was a genuine desire to learn. Defiance sometimes sparkled in his pale-green eyes, but was quickly taken under control.

Control. 

That, Cal Kestis had plenty of. 

_Unlike Anakin_ , again. 

For Anakin, most things came naturally, and to no wonder: he was the child of the Force, after all. But talent wasn’t everything; and where Anakin got angry and frustrated, Cal... well, he did too. But instead of lashing out, he gritted his teeth and tried again. And then again. Until he got it the way he wanted. 

“Failure is just a part of the path,” that’s what Obi-Wan heard him whisper to himself during one of their numerous training sessions in the sands, as his Padawan struggled to make rocks levitate in the air around him just the right way, and all of them tumbled down on the ground for the seventh time in the last two hours. 

Such wise words, for someone so young, but then again, Cal has been through a lot. Learned about failure the hard way, and failing such unimportant tasks as levitating rocks must have felt like nothing. Still, the look of disappointment was painted across the young man’s face, as he bit his lower lip and took a momentarily pause to recover his focus. 

His desire to be better was unmatched. Obi-Wan could almost call this boy a marvel. 

A week passed, and in all this time, he didn’t hear a single complaint from his Padawan. Not about the suns’ heat, not about the sand, not about the reading, not about the concentration exercises, which Obi-Wan made more and more difficult each time — not even the state of Cal’s own health, which, due to stim withdrawal, was far from its peak. It was hard to say exactly what was wrong with him, with how secretive he was, but Obi-Wan noticed all those minor things: nosebleeds, apparent strain in his apprentice’s movements and pained noises he made in his sleep, or simply when he thought his Master wouldn’t notice. 

“Cal, if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”

“I know, Master Kenobi. I’m fine.”

Whether it was mistrust, pride, or simply unwillingness to acknowledge weakness, Obi-Wan couldn’t know. Given how Cal leaned into the slightest hint of a touch, both physically and mentally, it was probably the latter, but who was he to pry? If his Padawan decided that he could handle it himself, well... he seemed to have no other choice but to allow it. 

He... didn’t want to have an argument about it. 

Looking at Cal, he saw Anakin’s shadow and a hint — _a promise_ — of Luke’s light; he agreed to train him because well, he had nothing better to do and because Jedi were supposed to help those who asked, keep their hearts open for the world, and so he did. He wished only that... he had met Cal under different circumstances. 

> They could have met in a Room of a Thousand Fountains, that one spot Obi-Wan loved the most, under an enormous fern with bright-green foliage, surrounded by exotic flowers some of which were brought there by Qui-Gon. Cal’s braid would have been much longer, decorated with beads of many different colors or maybe it would have been plain, given how strict Master Tapal was. And Cal wouldn’t have been wearing the blood-stained poncho; the pale beige color of a Jedi tunic would have suited him much better, and he wouldn’t have looked twenty-five when he was only eighteen, there would have been no sunburns on his cheeks, just freckles scattered against his pale skin, evidence of a passionate kiss a Jedi only could have shared with one entity in the whole world — the sun. And Obi-Wan imagined how he would have stood up and picked a flower; how he would have tucked it behind Cal’s ear; how almost translucent purple petals would have contrasted against his bright red hair. 
> 
> And Cal would have stopped right there, on the stone sidewalk, his eyes wide and sparkling with gentle surprise. He would have reached up and touched the flower with his fingertips, tentative smile on his lips, as he politely bowed his head, before being back on his way. Young, serene, his whole life ahead of him, as a promise of something better, something more. A whole bright world — universe filled with wonders and light. 

The tired boy who sat on the sand in front of him didn’t have this future. Not with the Empire hunting him down and not under Tatooine’s cruel suns. Even when he leaves — and Cal would leave, eventually, — he would spend his life fighting, for a cause which won’t be peace in the galaxy, but survival. 

“I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered, a barely audible sound, when night fell over the desert, as he sat there across Cal and leaned forward just a little to ruffle the boy’s hair. 

The look he got in return was puzzled, confused even, but then Cal moved closer, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Must have picked up traces of unshielded thoughts; regret over not being able to prevent the Clone Wars and his Padawan’s fall to the Dark side; something Obi-Wan forgot how to live without.

“None of what happened is your fault. Even if you were a member of the Council, it still isn’t.”

Bizzare, how much understanding could pass between two Force-sensitive beings if one of them let their guard down, even just for a second. With sandy dunes around them painted in blues, three moons shining bright in the night sky full of stars, Cal Kestis spoke in a soft voice, spoke the lines of someone who had to learn about life the hard way. 

He spoke of politics, of war efforts of the rebellion, about the Force, which, according to him, wasn’t _kind_ — it was as if he held back words for the whole week before finally letting go, his words flowing into cyan rivers of “ _I don’t care how much it hurts if the Force wills it_ ”, “ _I choose this path because it is the path to light, not because it’s an easy one_ ” and “ _None of us should ever feel sorry!”_

A teardrop fell on the sand, and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whose it was; his, or Cal’s. It didn’t matter, not really, not with realisation that they had a Force bond formed over — over regret and trauma, over unsaid things and Cal’s desire to follow the light even if the path was… well… what it was. 

“Thank you for accepting me, Master Kenobi,” Cal _finally_ expresses his gratitude in words; finally, because it has been on the surface of his thoughts since Mos Espa, always in form of a shapeless emotion.

“Thank you for choosing the light,” Obi-Wan hears his own voice echo over the dunes. 

Another couple of weeks went by, and it looked like Cal’s health gradually improved. Dark circles under his eyes were gone, there were no more nosebleeds, and his hands were no longer shaking. His nightmares, however, persisted. He was waking up with a scream, always scared, his Force always stained by Anakin’s blue, re-living the same _mistake_ over and over, stuck in a loop of memories which weren’t even his. Obi-Wan had no idea how to help. Cal’s ability to sense echoes was a rare one; he himself didn’t have it, didn’t know how it worked. Master Fisto _might_ have known, but he was dead, alongside everyone else. Qui-Gon… well, _his_ answer was vague, at best. 

At the very least, those weren’t visions of the future. 

Not like Anakin’s.

And Cal didn’t mind being comforted. Drank the herbal tea Obi-Wan offered him and tried to smile.

“Master Kenobi, tell me about Anakin Skywalker.”

What could he tell? Apart from the fact that Anakin was the best pilot in the galaxy? Hero With No Fear? That he risked his life for a droid?

That he used to think that people should always help each other, “ _no matter how hard it might seem at first_ ”, that his heart was kind beyond all limits. That he used to look at Obi-Wan with eyes full of admiration; that is, until he grew up. A true child of the Force itself, Anakin was stronger than any Jedi in the Order, stronger than his Master ever hoped to be, and yet, his respect for Obi-Wan remained even — _even on Mustafar_. 

But he wouldn’t be telling Cal the story a duel with his fallen Padawan, no; instead, he would tell him about Anakin’s first trip to Ilum, about _just what kind_ of face the boy made when he first set a foot on a planet made of ice.

Obi-Wan would tell him the stories of their countless adventures before the war; the peaceful missions they were sent to, about Anakin’s affinity for racing, high speeds and adrenaline. About that one time they tracked a bounty hunter through the jungles of Kashyyyk — made their way through the canopy of trees, and everything around them was alive — every branch, every blade of grass, even the air was filled with the living Force. And then Anakin fell into the lake, slipped on some kind of moss, or, perhaps, he did it on purpose. As an excuse to grab onto his Master, cling to him as if to keep the balance but actually — to pull them both down, — oh, the splash was something Obi-Wan was prepared to rant about _for weeks_ , but then… Anakin’s laughter was so heartfelt, so honest, that he couldn’t help, but smile at his Padawan and gently remove a brownish-green weed stuck to his cheek. 

“You loved him.”

“I still do.”

And then, their mission to Carnelion IV and his Padawan’s doubts about his future as a Jedi. Anakin was never sure, but Obi-Wan was. He knew that if Anakin was to leave the Order, he had to follow. It wasn’t a choice, and it had nothing to do with what Qui-Gon asked of him with his last dying breath.

Anakin stayed, but so did his doubts, no matter how Obi-Wan tried to chase them away. He never ended up having Cal’s resolve at following the light just because it was right — and there was just one thing he was afraid of. 

Death. 

He wasn’t afraid of dying himself, but he _was_ afraid that others around him might. His mother was the first one in this cascade of unfortunate losses that made Anakin’s soul crack under pressure, his possessive side becoming all the more prominent, especially after Geonosis, tipping him towards a series of reckless decisions — “secret” marriage included.

“He thought I didn’t know, but… I practically raised him. The way he looked at her… it was all I had to see to connect the dots.”

“Yet, you didn’t report him. Why? He would have been expelled from the Order then…”

“Exactly. We would have lost our best Jedi. And Anakin would have fallen straight into senator Palpatine’s welcoming arms, because even if Padme wasn’t as blind as everyone else — and she was a clever woman — Anakin wouldn’t have listened. I thought that maybe I could reason with him. Maybe if I look after him, he won’t be…”

“Wait. You knew about Palpatine back then?”

“I _didn’t_. I just had a bad feeling about him. Didn’t like him. But I couldn’t have imagined him being even Force-sensitive, let alone a Sith lord!”

He didn’t tell Cal that he couldn’t stand the idea of _losing_ Anakin like this. That he still cherished the peaceful moments they shared during missions, their lively chatter always brightening the mood, that the happiest moments of his entire life were those in which Anakin looked at him and smiled. That he himself was no better at following the Code; was walking too close to the line when the Clone Wars started. Duty came first, surely, but now, telling the story, he understood just how much had to remain untold. Some of decisions he made were tainted by attachment to his former Padawan, on the battlefield he always chose Anakin over others; over himself. 

Perhaps, that was why Master Yoda denied his request to train another Padawan. 

“He told me that I should let go of Anakin first. Give him more space.”

“And you did?”

“With the war raging on, there was little choice. We had separate missions most of the time, and when we met, things got… see, none of us was picture-perfect. But he still trusted me, and I trusted him. I remember he was _so_ infuriated with Palpatine who told him to leave me behind once — that was a rescue mission, we’ve been rescuing a _Sith lord, for Force’s sake!_ — and that was the last time I saw him. I had to go to Utapau, and then my troops turned on me. I thought it was bad — when I got to Coruscant, I learned that Anakin —” 

He stalled, hand over his mouth in the same gesture like all those years ago. It hurt too much, no matter how many times he thought of what happened. Every Jedi in the Temple. All of the younglings, slayed by someone whose smile made Obi-Wan’s soul ache with love and affection. 

“Why do I get the feeling that Master Yoda decided to teach you another _kriffing lesson_ on attachment and sent you to kill your former Padawan?” Cal, for some reason, seemed angry. 

“He told me that I wasn’t strong enough to face Sidious. He was right, I guess.”

Cal huffed, put down his cup, now empty, and stood up. He paced the room, braid swinging from one side to another, like a pendulum. 

“Oh and _he_ was?! How amazingly _that_ turned out! Kriffing _slayed_ him! Oh and did his oversized brain forget the fact that Skywalker — correct me if I misinterpreted — is literally _the child of the Force itself ?_ _!_ Forgive me the analogy, but he is _the closest thing_ ever existing to _a god_ ! And you were supposed to fight him? Even though you still loved him? I can’t begin to imagine — _no, I_ … _actually…_ ”

Obi-Wan watched as anger faded for a second from his Padawan’s face, before returning, multiplied a thousandfold; Cal’s hands curled into fists, as he rushed to the door. 

“I’ll take the speeder. Need some air.” 

“Cal, wait!”

Dammit. 

Obi-Wan sprung up and followed him outside, but alas, too late. The sound of speeder engines powering — he could have reached out and held the speeder in place by the Force, it would have been easy, with how much he wanted to do it, but he knew better than to attempt it. 

“Whatever you do, please, be careful!”

He desperately hoped that Cal heard him, as he watched the speeder disappear over horizon, stars shining ever so brightly in the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noes, Cal, where are you going?! It's dangerous!


	8. Cal Kestis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I would have been doing without your support, guys <3  
> your comments mean the world to me

The speeder zoomed above the desert, rising clouds of sand up into the air. Cal shut himself from the Force around him, didn’t want to listen to anything more; all he wanted was just that — to be as far away from — from everything — as possible. He couldn’t stand what he just heard. What his Master had been through — he knew what Skywalker had been through, he knew exactly what he felt towards Obi-Wan Kenobi when he jumped. The hatred, the defiance, and… bitterness. The one of a betrayed lover, if only Cal knew that feeling well enough to name it. 

It should have never happened like that. 

Why didn’t this allwise Master Yoda suggest fighting Sidius together? Why sending Obi-Wan to fight his former Padawan? Why being that cruel? 

Cruel, or simply blind?

Cal didn’t care. For all he knew, this Jedi would be lucky to keep his limbs if they met right now. The anger boiled inside him, when —

Something flew towards him from the side. Sharp pain, then, a numbing feeling spreading through his body. Then another something, huge now — and a loud crash, the world spinning round as Cal couldn’t keep his grip on the speeder, then yells — battlecries, it seemed. 

He rolled over the sand, his mouth suddenly full of the kriffing thing. He spit it out, tasted iron on his tongue, reached out to the Force. There were eight people around him, armed, anger radiating from all of them but one — the one seemed… interested? He could deal with them easily. His hand hovered over his lightsaber, but — no, he couldn’t use that. 

He dodged a blow, and then another. And then one more after that. He could have used the Force to pull his enemies towards him and choke them, but… not really secretive either, if there were people here, there might be a settlement nearby, and this meant droids, and this meant cameras, and he couldn’t really sense non-living things. So, that was out of the question. He had to rely on his skills in close-in fighting, maybe something subtle as making his attackers trip, but that was it. 

After fighting Obi-Wan Kenobi in a lightsaber duel it seemed easy. After weeks of rest it was really just that, until — 

He was wounded when they first knocked him off the speeder, the blood was dripping down to the sand, staining it crimson, as he moved. His head was going fuzzy from pain and blood loss, and he didn’t know how long he could last before —

Before what?

He didn’t want to kill those people, but —

He would eventually grow too tired to go on. He had to finish it before that happened, but the fight dragged on for what seemed like ages. He would make one trip and fall, dodge a hit, _break somebody’s neck_ , but yet another attacker would be right in front of him, and it never seemed to end. They didn’t try to end him, either. They had ropes; they wanted him alive, and that’s what made it all the more scary. What did they want? Did they know who he was already? Was this his free pass to just unleash the Force on them, leaving nothing but lifeless corpses behind? No. No, those were no bounty hunters, they had no blasters, they had no speeders, not from what he could see, they didn’t fight like bounty hunters, no. It made him hesitate. But their leader _wanted him_. Cal was on the verge of panicking, when she stared at him — with just one eye, as the other one glinted in the light of the moon. A blood-red crystal, the colour of a Sith’s blade. 

He was quick to collect himself though — and the fight dragged on for longer, until the corners of his visions started to darken. 

It was then he felt another presence in the Force, and seconds later heard a roar of an engine getting louder and coming to an abrupt halt. Then, quick steps. Then, his Master’s voice. Not the soft tones he was used to, but a solid-steel shout. 

“A'Yark! Leave him alone!”

The time itself seemed to freeze; no, it wasn’t the time, it was the Force; held every attacker in place except the one with the red crystal for an eye, who turned to speak with his Master, allowed Cal to back away. 

“Kenobi.”

They knew each other. So much Cal could tell, as he all, but fell to the sand, with a heavy sigh, leaning against the wrecked speeder. Cal closed his eyes and tried not to listen to the broken strings of Basic; his brain refused to process them anyway. There was something about a killed son, a blood debt, saving a tribe, and… oh, he didn’t care, he didn’t want to hear it, all he wanted was to be _alone, away from all of this._

He could meditate, perhaps, that’s what a Jedi knight would have done, but Cal struggled to find peace now, with his head too light and vision too blurry, the sands around him vibrating with the echo of a recent violence. 

It was a bantha he collided with. Poor animal lay several feet away, life draining from its mangled body. Those people sent it to die a horrible death; they knew how it would end for the creature, and yet, when a weapon hitting its mark wasn’t enough… 

There were more voices, now in a language he couldn’t understand, and rustle of sands, moving gradually further away..

 _“Those people are gone,”_ the Force whispered, and it could have been reassuring, but for Cal, it wasn’t. The Force in itself wasn’t a comfort, not when stained so much with the echoes of a fight, of death and suffering. 

He shook his head and willed it to stay silent for now. He heard footsteps approaching. 

“Didn’t I _tell_ you to be careful, Padawan?”

A bacta-soaked cloth was pressed against his side in a firm motion, and Cal hissed from the feel of it, combined with the sharp sting of guilt. 

“Hold it there until the bleeding stops, I’ll get the bandages.”

Cal didn’t feel half as bad about his wounds. Those would heal. The speeder, however... He glanced from the wreckage to the sands, stained red by what happened. 

He heard his Master argue with someone in the distance; although it was a very one-sided argument, because Obi-Wan Kenobi stayed silent for the most of it. 

Bitter words flew left and right, about mostly how his Master was a trouble for everyone, how he was putting everyone in danger and how he _got enough killed already_ , and Cal lifted his head to see who had the insolence to say those words to a Jedi, but the world spun around him in a swirl of beige and crimson. 

He instinctively reached out for Master Kenobi through the Force and felt his presence wrap around him. 

“Cal, you still with me? Remember your training. Breath. Concentrate on the Force around you and...”

“Give the kid a damn stim, Kenobi!”

“He doesn’t need stims to-“

“He doesn’t need anymore of your Jedi bantha shit!”

Cal heard a familiar pop of a stim container opening, felt something in his Master’s Force change. A decision was made, a boundary overstepped, something tainted the blinding-bright blue. But his voice was calm, when he spoke again. Serene. 

“You don’t want to argue with me.”

“I don’t want to argue with you.”

“You will be waiting by the landspeeder.”

“I will be waiting by the landspeeder.”

“You will leave the medkit here.”

“I will leave the medkit here.”

Oh. That. Wasn’t really nice to somebody who wanted to help, probably. Wasn’t something he expected his Master to... 

He needed... right. Concentrate. He could do that. Not the echoes, but the Force. 

The warmth of the rising suns, the coarse sand under his gloved hand, each grain of it perfectly round, polished by years and years of endless travels across the desert, as dunes shifted, and shifted, and shifted — like waves — as storms came and went, in the endless current. 

The Force was everywhere. It flowed through every grain of sand, every stone, every drop of blood that landed on the ground. 

And if he tried he could pull it towards him. The Force could give him the same thing stims did — energy for his body to function, but not just that; the Force could help him heal. If he tried hard enough, so he did. Sorted through every grain of sand, every rock, brushed his mind against the bent metal of the speeder, against the still warm corpse of a bantha; the Force was silent within those. Cal couldn’t quite grasp it, as if he was trying to catch air. It seemed that the traces of the Force on Tatooine were just... that. Traces. Hints, but nothing more. And one couldn’t breath with just a hint of air. 

He felt a steady hand cover his own, where he tried to keep a bacta-soaked cloth against his wound. His Master’s blue was like a beacon in the night, a guiding light, a pleasant breeze in the desert heat, soft waves of a freshwater lake. 

“I’m here for you. My Force is here for you.”

It was, and Cal could feel it flow through him, the gradual tide of energy filling his body as the pain became numb, subsided to — _almost, and then_ — nothing. It was so different to stims; there was no rush of adrenaline, no sudden desire to spring into action, his focus remained locked exactly where it was, as the Force didn’t overwhelm him, it... it offered a more gentle kind of support, it seemed. 

His vision wasn’t a blur anymore. 

His Master looked at him with gentle eyes and a hint of a smile. 

“Feel better, Padawan?”

Cal gave him a short nod and tried to jump to his feet but was held firmly in place. 

“Easy, your injuries didn’t go anywhere. Now, let me help you.”

Cal didn’t feel much of the pain at all, nor as his Master quickly put a bandage over the wound, nor as they made their way to the landspeeder, where a stranger — his Master’s acquaintance — stood, radiating his distaste towards everything around him. He was a simple man with a simple mind, easy to read. His name was Owen Lars, he lived on a moisture farm not too far from their own home. He liked simple things. Didn’t understand the Force. Didn’t understand his stepbrother, who was now dead. He was protective of his wife and his adoptive son, the one whom — 

Cal felt his Master shut him down. 

_“There is a thing called privacy, Cal.”_

This line wasn’t spoken aloud, but through their bond, a feeling that Cal missed since... since the day Jaro Tapal died, protecting him, their bond ripped at that moment. The memory still hurt, but no more than it was supposed to. He still felt guilty about not being good enough, but no more than he was supposed to. The pain has become a part of him, part of his past, shaped who he was, in a way. 

“Hey, kid, you all good? You sure showed those Tuskens a hell of a fight!”

Owen seemed much friendlier towards him, than he was towards his Master. 

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Yet, despite the unfriendliness and all, Owen still helped. Why was that? He clearly hated him, clearly wasn’t mind-tricked into helping, wasn’t afraid of him either. 

The three of them made it all the way back home in silence, Owen was the one driving, as Cal settled in the backseat, clinging to Master Kenobi for support — more of an emotional tether, than a way to deal with lingering pain — as there was, to his surprise, none. His head was just feeling fuzzy. He had no reason to be clingy, but he was; buried his face on his Master’s shoulder, marveling at how — how come there was no anger, no reprimand, no anything?

Cal remembered Master Tapal. Master Tapal would have been giving him a talk right now, with danger out of the way, not stroking his hair, wouldn’t have allowed that closeness, that comfort. 

Surely it might just be the case that Master Kenobi was saving a lecture for another time, but Cal felt that he just won’t be getting one. Maybe just another “didn’t I tell you to be careful”, but apart from that, no, there wouldn’t be a thing. And, perhaps, that was worse. Being treated with such kindness after making costly, _stupid_ mistakes, _oh he wished he didn’t lash out like this, he should have stayed, should have known better —_

“Cal, it’s alright. I did many reckless things when I was your age. I even flew a single-pilot craft through the starship's corridors.”

“Oh?” 

“It was in a much worse shape than our speeder afterwards. It wasn’t even mine.”

“How come?” Cal looked up, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

Obi-Wan smiled and proceeded with the story, his voice quiet, almost a murmur, as he told of his adventures with Qui-Gon Jinn; signing treaties and freeing slaves, working with jewellery thieves, unexpected turns at each corner and a prophecy coming true. _When a kyber that is not kyber shines forth —_

Owen dropped them off, without as much as saying goodbye. Not to his Master, anyway. 

Cal looked at their speeder, hauled to the hut’s wall by his Master, its frame mangled, but still in one piece. On Bracca they scrapped ships, mostly, but… he saw many things in worse shape. He thought that maybe he could repair it. Give it a try. 

He didn’t have a chance to voice this idea, though, as he was, once again, the center of his Master’s attention. And BD-1’s, the droid beeped loudly as they entered.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Obi-Wan admitted, as he made Cal sit down on the bed, “Although I had no reason to be. You handled that fight well. The level of crowd-control you have is praiseworthy, the fine Force manipulation was also skillfully executed.”

“I still got hurt.”

“That was before the fight started.”

“Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. And they didn’t want to kill me, they…”

“I know. It changes nothing, Cal. Tuskens might not be Force-sensitive, but they are warriors. And you held back, didn’t you?” 

To that, Cal had no answer. It was true. He did hold back, and with this, well… 

“Now, let me see to that wound you have, seemed to bleed like hell.”

True. Strangely, it didn’t hurt anymore. Cal didn’t argue, though. With a nod, he took off his poncho and pulled up his vest. Kept his eyes on the bandages, soaked through with blood and bacta, but already starting to dry. He held his breath, almost anticipating pain, as his Master cut through the strips of fabric to remove them. He thought he would see a ripped wound, deep and ugly, something that would take weeks to fully heal even if _submerged_ in bacta. He could imagine how much it would hurt to move around with an injury such as this.

“Oh Force,” his Master sounded stunned by what he saw. 

To be honest, Cal was too. 

There was no wound. Where was blood, mixed with bacta, dried in places, but the injury itself was gone, without even leaving a scar. 

They stared at each other for a good minute before finally a silent decision to meditate on this later was passed. Until then, uncertainty lingered in the air, because they lived in a world which offered no simple miracles, and the Force was _no magic_ . The fact that his Master was just as shocked by the fact as he was proved that he had nothing to do with how fast — _and how completely_ — it healed. At least he wasn’t expecting this result, when he shared his energy; well… they have a lot to talk about, that’s for sure.

If only… if only there was anybody else to turn to and ask. 

Cal half-expected to be told not to overthink it, but it never came. Instead, several hours later, after a sonic shower and a meal, after his clothes were cleaned from the bloodstains, he felt two people approach their home, one of them so bright, like a little shooting star, a hint of green swirling around. 

Cal was sitting on the floor, reading one of the ancient texts, calm, focused. A knock on the door came. 

Master Kenobi went to open it. He was just as serene in the Force as always, but his shoulders seemed tense; Cal could not quite define as to why that was. 

A woman stood in the doorframe, a bag across her shoulder, she held a small child by the hand. He was no older than six, probably only five years of age. Cal reached out to them instinctively, but got pushed right back, it almost hurt with how completely his Master shielded those two from him. A durasteel — no, bescar — wall of defense, but why? Why, _why_? 

He wanted to ask, but didn’t. Kept his mouth shut. 

“Beru, Luke, please come in,” his Master sounded cheerful, perhaps too much so, but not entirely sincere. “What brings you here?”

“I know what happened. Owen told me about what you did. Don’t _ever_ do it again.” she told sternly, as she went inside. “But I’m not here to argue with you, I’m here to give you something.”

She let go of the child, and reached inside her bag, retrieved several small packages.

“Some mushrooms and herbs we grow on vaporators; give them to your kid, whoever he…”

“Beru, I can’t accept it, and Cal will be fine, we have…”

“I insist. We don’t usually get an opportunity to talk, but I know that you do a great deal for us, so consider this a thanks. You won’t get much more than that on Tatooine, so don’t refuse.”

Cal carefully stood up, and it was then she noticed him. They exchanged nods, Cal smiled, and she decided, for some reason, to talk to him instead of his Master. The packages were in his hands now, and he went to the kitchen to stuff them in the cupboards. With the corners of his eyes he saw his Master kneel to talk with the boy — blue eyes, blond hair, endless curiosity, and the boy for some reason went straight to him. 

“You are a Jedi too, right?” Beru spoke in a very quiet voice, almost a whisper. “A Padawan learner?”

“Yeah.”

She stayed silent for a long while. Didn’t like his Master either, so it seemed.

“I’m glad _Ben_ finally found himself somebody to train.”

Cal had nothing to say to that, so he stayed silent on the matter, offered their guest some tea instead, to change the subject, she accepted. Drank it in silence, obviously listening to voices carrying over from another room.

 _“She’s giving him time to talk to the child!”_ Cal figured out, but this made things even more confusing. So the child was Force-sensitive. Why that “finally” in her words then? He had too many questions, all of them remaining unanswered. He reached out to his Master, but no luck; beskar shields were still there. 

He resorted to being helpful.

And if that meant meaningless chatter, keeping a conversation going, he would do exactly that. Keep their guest occupied for as long as he could. 

“Would you like some more tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sudden Force-heal, and an encounter with his Master's past! Poor Cal has a lot to meditate on, but don't worry! He will manage.


	9. Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, guys, thank you so much for your comments and kudos it means so much <3  
> This chapter is somehow dialogue-heavy, everyone is suddenly talking.

It was the first time he saw Luke this close, was allowed to speak to him, to interact somehow, in years. Larses were good at keeping their distance, every time Obi-Wan visited them, he was told that Luke was somewhere in _the other room,_ or sleeping, or whatever else, so just leave, Kenobi, we don’t need you, take whatever you’ve brought with you and keep us out of your trouble. It quickly became clear that they didn’t want him to see the boy at all. Didn’t want him to share the stories of being a Jedi, of other planets and distant stars, didn’t want the boy to ever touch the Force, but that... oh, that wasn’t possible. 

And through it all Obi-Wan saw Owen’s influence, surely. He didn’t argue with him, no. Submitted to his rules, abided, because it was his home, and he didn’t want to overstep a boundary. He entrusted Anakin’s son to his family, to the Force, and although he sometimes wanted — ached — to, he wouldn’t intervene. He did what little he could do; built little models of starships out of scraps for Luke to play with, left them on Shmi Skywalker’s grave. He brought supplies to Larses each time he had a chance, although he knew that they could do fine without them. He spent his days watching over their home, protecting them from whatever dangers that might come — until Cal stumbled into his life. He still checked back regularly, but much to Owen’s delight his visits were cut short — he couldn’t allow his Padawan to know about Luke, about Larses, about so many things. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cal, but...

It was exactly that. 

He just didn’t want to admit it. Nor aloud, nor even in his thoughts. Cal didn’t deserve his mistrust, but Luke’s safety came first, overridden the fragile connection they shared, and Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate to shield everything. Too hastily, because he didn’t expect Cal to be the one to pry after Owen, because he believed Cal to be too obedient to try, and yet... perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps, he just forgot that Cal’s true dream was to rebuild on the ashes of what was left of the Order — his quest for the holocron a silent proof — and here was a Force-sensitive child standing right in front of him. “Like a little shooting star” — his Padawan’s thought slipped through, not his. 

He will have to deal with this _mess_ later. Right now...

Luke. 

As Cal led Beru away, the boy came up to him, eyes wide, smile a touch shy, mind open. The Force sang around him, not yet colored, but with a promise, a slight hint of green, and not blue, but nonetheless the feel of it so recognizable, so kindred to Anakin, that Obi-Wan’s heart ached. 

For the longest, sweetest moments they just sat on the floor and talked. Well, it was Luke who did the talking; about his plans, how he would one day explore the stars, become a bounty hunter, or maybe a pirate? Or an explorer. Or a racer! Or even better... the list went on endlessly, and Obi-Wan smiled, unable to contain his happiness as it seemed to wash over everyone present — even through the shielding. 

He knew it did, because he felt Cal’s dulled anxiety spike and even out in the background, leaving behind only the distant hum of “ _why_ ” and _“hurts”._

It might have been wise to call after him and reassure him. But Obi-Wan didn’t. 

“Why does uncle Owen hate you so much?” Luke asked him, tilting his head to the side just a bit. 

“Where did you get this idea from?” 

And when did Larses decide to tell the boy that they weren’t his parents? How much more did they decide to tell him? How much more was Obi-Wan exactly missing? He supposed, it was a lot. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t help it. He had to accept it and let it go. 

“He just does. I feel it. And today when he returned he told aunt Beru that he hated you. Why?”

“People tend to fear things they don’t understand. Fear leads to hatred. Your uncle doesn’t understand me, so he’s angry with me most of the time. I don’t think he truly hates me, Luke,” Obi-Wan allowed himself to reach out and pat the boy on his head, blond hair soft under his palm, just like Anakin’s once were. Even softer. No. He shouldn’t be comparing. It was wrong. 

“But you are kind! I can feel it. Can’t he feel it?” Luke sounded frustrated as he looked down, his hands curled into little fists. 

“Not all people can feel the world like you do, young one. You cannot judge them for it,” he offered quietly. 

“But they judge me all right,” Luke huffed and flopped down onto one of the pillows left on the floor where Cal was sitting minutes ago. 

“What do you mean?”

“When I get frustrated with something. Or something doesn’t work out. You know. I get angry and the air around seems to get thick, and it’s scary. And they say I imagine it but I don’t. But they say I’m making it up. And there’s no such thing. And they do it all the time.”

Of course they did. And of course it happened. Without proper training Luke didn’t know how to handle the Force flowing through him, dormant, but amplified by the slightest hint of emotion. He wanted to help — but he couldn’t — he wanted to help. He would show Luke how to deal with it before it gets worse. He wouldn’t tell him what they will be doing, and Owen will never know it has something to do with the Force. 

“I want to show you a little trick you can use when you feel on edge. It will help you be more in control of what you feel.”

He used to teach a class on meditation to the younglings in the Temple, so explaining Luke what to do came naturally even if he had to avoid words like “the Force” or any connotations of it. He had his doubts of welcoming Luke to his mind, however, but seeing his troubles maintaining focus, decided that it would be fine. He just had to make sure to keep his own concentration in check. 

Luke was a quick learner, he realized that he could rely on Obi-Wan’s mind to guide him into a welcome trance-like state where worry and anger didn’t exist and was eager to wrap himself in the calming, soothing blue of his Force. A frown faded from his face, replaced first by a smile, and then by a calm expression a true Jedi could wear with pride any day. 

Minutes passed, and then an hour. 

Obi-Wan could feel Cal panic somewhere in the edges of his mind just a second before Beru stepped out of the kitchen. 

“I’ve never seen him so quiet for so long, what have you done to him?” she almost scolded, but it was a kind-hearted remark. 

It was time to let go. 

He didn’t want to. 

_Force_ , he didn’t want to. 

Cal stared at him from across the room, unease painted across his face, his worry thrumming through their bond, as he made no effort to shield it, feelings laid bare before his Master. 

With a softest sigh Obi-Wan gently pushed Luke out of their meditative trance and stood up. 

“Come now, young one, it’s time for you to go home. It was nice to see you.”

He felt as if he had to cut open his own chest, the wound deep and ugly, bleeding dark crimson into the Force, the burning cold sadness — it might be years before he has a chance to see the boy again, and he truly wanted —

There was no emotion, there was peace. 

There was no attachment. Not anymore. He knew that his eyes were distant as he looked at young Skywalker, as the boy got up and offered him a small smile before looking at Cal. 

“Oh. And you are like a lens. You don’t have much of anything yourself, but if something shines through you, it might even burn.”

Cal chuckled uncomfortably, but otherwise stayed silent. Beru took Luke by the hand and led him outside, saying goodbye on her way out. She was visibly uncomfortable with her charge’s sudden observations. 

“I’ll see you both next week!” Luke shouted, waving at them, as his aunt tried to get him into the landspeeder. “Bye!”

Obi-Wan was a bit surprised to hear that, but didn’t reply; waited for them both to leave, watched the landspeeder disappear beyond the horizon, and only then gradually lowered the defences he had built around Luke and Beru. He expected Cal to fill all available space with anxiety and worry, leaving nothing else, _like Anakin would have done_ , but his Padawan did nothing of the sort, his feelings still somehow dulled and shy; a hum, not a scream. 

He saw him on the verge of saying something, hesitating, indecisive. Saw him lower his eyes and pick up a pillow from the floor, pausing for just a moment. 

“I understand now,” he said finally, voice quiet, with a slight sad undertone, “...why you chose this place. This desert. I’ve been wondering, if all the places, why this, but now, I think, I get it.”

It sounded intriguing, Obi-Wan decided not to interrupt him. 

“This boy, you wish to train him, don’t you? And I just came and ruined it. Left you with no choice but to take me. A hindrance on your chosen path.”

Not too far from truth. Yet, the conclusion his Padawan derived from it was deplorable. It was sad that Cal’s soul harboured so much self-doubt, but what could Obi-Wan do to help him? Nothing. Not a single thing. 

“Larses won’t let me train Luke. Ever, Cal.”

“But you wish they did.”

“I wish for many things. I wish there were no Clone Wars. No Empire.”

“This is different.”

“How, precisely?”

Cal stayed silent for a moment, but then tossed the pillow back to the floor and sat down. 

“Because, Master, the Clone Wars are gone. And you can’t change the fact that the Empire exists. For now, it’s evident that you care about this youngling.”

“As I care about you.”

He saw Cal’s eyes go wide at the implication of the _unthinkable_ , tabooed feeling, he himself accused Obi-Wan of seconds ago. The feeling Obi-Wan so easily admitted. Several times in the last few days, in fact. He wondered, why it was just now that the meaning of his words finally started to sink in; or, perhaps, that’s why stories of Anakin provoked such a violent reaction this night; by Cal’s standards, anyways. Their whole relationship was against the Code, because...

“...attachments are forbidden,” Cal almost whispers it, going pale, his skin like Ilum snow and his freckles scattered on it like shards of kyber. 

“Do you know why that is?”

“Because Jedi are meant to be selfless. Because our love should be equal towards all living beings. It should be a tame, calm feeling. Attachment leads to passion and possessiveness, and that is not the Jedi way.”

Obi-Wan shook his head: a silent “no”, although Cal was right, of course. What he said was true. The kind of truth one tells somebody they do not wish to hurt, the one they wish to spare the uglier side of what being a Jedi truly means. The one they teach to the younglings. The one which can only exist in the times where there is no war, where the Sith are but a legend. 

“Attachments are forbidden because one day a brilliant blade of red might burn through your dear Master’s chest, while all you can do is stand and watch, and scream. Because one day a woman you cherished, your friend, dies in your arms, proclaiming her love for you. Because one day your beloved apprentice chooses to fall and you are _forced to dismember him, then watch him aflame,_ ” Obi-Wan said, as he sat down on the floor next to Cal, but didn’t look at him, offering him space, as the conversation they were about to have was going to be difficult and a little… unorthodox, perhaps. “Those things rip your soul to shreds if attachments are there.”

“Are you implying that as long as we let go, we are allowed to…” Cal fell silent. 

“A Master and a Padawan spend approximately ten years together, do you really think it’s possible to remain so distant, so withdrawn not to consider the person you see everyday for ten years a close friend? A family? I would say, one _grows_ to love another. They are left with no choice, and yet we have no luxury of being possessive. We _form_ attachments, but we _let them go_ , when the time comes,” Obi-Wan knew that he was interpreting the Code quite liberally at this point, but… the Order was long gone, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care enough to refrain from doing so. 

Cal didn’t deserve to deprive himself of feelings as much as the Order made others do; there was no Order now, after all, and the boy did a fine job suppressing his emotions as it was. Faked it, ‘till it broke him. Obi-Wan remembered their trip back from Mos Espa. The way his Padawan’s tears soaked all the way through three layers of fabric, the way he clung to him, as if his life depended on it. He remembered the way his mind felt that evening; so bright with emotion it hurt to look, to touch, every nerve bared. All of that didn’t correlate with what he saw now; traces of feelings, dulled emotions, distant hum of anxiety. Feigned serenity. 

“Don’t you think it’s hypocritical, Master? The fact that what we preach is different from what we practice?” Cal looked at him, his face still calm, but there was a tremble in his voice, barely noticeable, alike the twitch he had a week ago, when his battle with stim withdrawal was still raging on. 

“How different, exactly?”

“I should, in theory, love all living beings equally. Meaning you, Cere, Merrin, all those people I’ve been fighting, the youngling and his aunt, the tachs from Kashyyyk, but I don’t. I never did. And now you’re telling me it’s not wrong?”

“One of the Jedi Masters back at the Coruscant once compared people to kyber crystals; told that though they all have the same potential to become perfect for anyone’s lightsaber, only some of them call to you in song. I like this analogy of his, to an extent. It doesn’t mean, however, that a Jedi shouldn’t treat all living beings with the same respect and be kind to them. And if a Jedi brings death, he should make it quick and merciful.”

Obi-Wan heard his Padawan give a barely audible sigh, before turning to him, facing him, sharp shards of ice beneath a veil of serenity. 

“Who is this youngling, Master?” he asked, trying to smile, but it ended up crooked to one side, unbalanced. 

Telling him the truth was not an option. Lying to him was not an option either. 

“I won’t tell you.”

It was the only way to carry on. 

Cal nodded, and it was at this moment Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only one in this room who could shield his mind _completely_ , even with the force-bond in place. 

They didn’t meditate together; didn’t share a meal. Cal stuffed himself in the corner of the room with his droid and pretended to read for the rest of the day. For some reason Obi-Wan couldn’t find it in himself to be the first one to break the silence. 

Not today, perhaps. 

Maybe tomorrow. 

It was a hard day for all of them, after all. He decided that it was _fine_ to leave his Padawan sulking by himself, at least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *in Yoda voice*  
> Jealous you are, Cal Kestis. Not the Jedi Way it is. To the Dark side, such emotions might lead.


	10. Anakin Skywalker |&| Cal Kestis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be a little busy next week, so I have an update a bit earlier this time!  
> As always, I love you all <3 Thanks for sticking with me for that long!

This dream wasn’t about Mustafar. The feeling was the same: shattered pieces of broken mirror on the edges of his consciousness, but it wasn’t Mustafar. A star Destroyer, the layout of it familiar, but not, it wasn’t _his_ ship. It didn’t _feel_ familiar, the clone troopers marching around didn’t notice him, didn’t acknowledge his presence, as if he was an empty spot. Their suits were painted in an unfamiliar shade of yellow. 

Vader glanced down. Ah, yes. He was Skywalker in this one too, then. He almost knew what to expect next, what to look for. A barely visible, almost transparent shade of cyan, and perhaps, if he approached carefully, if he didn’t let himself get too _angry_ , he might get the answers that he needed. He still wondered about this most peculiar connection, and kept it a secret from the Emperor. 

Well, at least until he knew what exactly was going on, he wasn’t going to share a thing. What was his — was his. 

He strolled through the maze of corridors and someone else’s memories, thinking that it was strange; he was looking at things in a weird way, as if from an angle. As if he was too short to look troopers in the eye, which has never been the case, but then again, Kestis was young when the Clone Wars raged on. He must have remembered it differently; it was his dream; his mind, apparently, shaped it into whatever he _remembered_. For a moment Vader almost thought that he would find his Jedi looking differently this time, too. 

But he didn’t. 

“Don’t you think it is _unwise_ to drag a Sith inside your dream?”

Cal Kestis looked exactly the same way he did back at the Fortress. Same poncho, same clothes, the only difference was — a pathetic, short padawan braid hanging by his right ear, like a rat tail. A green bead sparkled in the dim light of the corridors — apparently, it was a night cycle on the ship, too — and Vader sneered at this. So this _lost boy_ found himself a proper Master. Or Cere Junda finally won over her fear and reconnected with the Force. Both of those weren’t good news, exactly. Nothing to worry about either, Kestis wasn’t a worthy opponent, a lucky one, but not _strong_ , still… 

Cal looked up from where he sat on the floor, eyes red with unshed tears, and didn’t run. Didn’t even flinch. He looked as if his thoughts were elsewhere. As if he didn’t care about who was standing right in front of him, although Vader was sure that he saw recognition sparkle in those dull green eyes.

“Being a Jedi is unwise too,” he said finally, before lowering his head.

Oh. Oh _that_ . Was surprising to hear from somebody who fashioned a padawan braid by his ear. More surprising, was the rise of emotion this line stirred somewhere deep inside Vader’s chest. Some part of him — the Skywalker part of him — wanted to tell the boy that he was wrong. That being a Jedi was the best thing that could have _ever_ happened to any human being. That the Force _sang_ with each and every breath, and that _there was peace_ , and that _there was love_ , and that no matter how hard things were _there was always a way_ — he silenced that part violently. 

Another part of him sneered, cruel and grim. Surely being a Jedi is a _mistake_. Vader, of all people, knew it well. 

“Most amusing,” he said, “How you say that, and still hold onto the Jedi traditions.”

“Most amusing,” Cal parroted, without looking at him, “That you believe me to aspire to be _wise,_ of all things.”

“What do you aspire to, then? Will you enlighten me, perhaps? What is it you wish to find?” 

He saw Kestis looking up, saw his fake serene expression, saw his lips move, but no sound came, as the dream shattered into million pieces, fell apart, washed away by the overly sweet — disgustingly so — smell of bacta in his nostrils. 

But he could still make out the word. 

_“Peace.”_

The Force swelled around him, attuned to his anger, bleeding hate all around him — the glass of the bacta tank cracked, somebody screamed, but Vader failed to care. Durasteel bended under his hate, consoles sparkled, the lights blinked once and went out. 

At that moment he hated all the world around him. The troopers, who hurried out of the medbay, the ship, the durasteel which he could cut through with the Force like it was _nothing_ , his own weakened body which didn’t allow him to stay in the dream long enough, but most of all, he hated Cal Kestis, who _dared to_ not be afraid of him anymore. Who dared to think that he had a chance to become a Jedi in a cruel world where there was nothing but _pain_ and _agony_. 

In that moment Vader swore to prove insolent Padawan wrong. To show him what the Jedi _truly_ were. That peace was _nothing, but a lie._

* * *

Cal woke up at first light the next morning. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but apparently sulking in the corner by himself had been draining enough. He remembered the dream he had; for once, it wasn’t a nightmare. He saw Skywalker there, again. A distorted version of him, blurred so much his eyes couldn’t focus, his Force too bright and too dim at the same time, almost as if he was looking at the sun with his eyes closed. It was still shining, but he couldn’t make out a thing. 

There was no doubt now that this was no simple dream, and that he had to speak with Master Kenobi about it, but…

Cal remembered yesterday. The sudden shields, the youngling, his Master’s refusal to share at least _a bit_ of information, the mistrust — something dark twisted inside his chest, and he was almost overcome with a sudden urge to vomit. No, that… that feeling wasn’t… wasn’t _him_. It was possessive, wrong, so wrong, and he didn’t want to — 

With a huff, he jumped to his feet and looked around, shoving the unwanted feelings deep down until he found it in himself to meditate. Then, he would release them, think them over, get over them.

Usually his Master was the first to wake up, but today that seemed not to be the case. Quietly, Cal got dressed and made his way towards the kitchen, where he attempted to fix himself breakfast without making too much noise. He ate in silence, watching his Master sleep. 

There was a hint of a frown on his face. Cal noticed grey hair on his temples, something that he didn’t exactly look at before; light freckles on his shoulders, a faded scar almost completely covered by his beard and a line of three discolored birthmarks on his forehead. In his sleep he looked so… human. Not a perfectly serene statue made of rock somewhere deep underground in the Zeffo tombs, not the picture-perfect Jedi who sat on the Council, from the holophotos Cal saw when he was young. An imperfect human being who shaped himself — with the help of others, surely — into what he came to be, into the person Cal came to admire now. Despite all missteps, all liberties with the Code. He… 

When he was a youngling, General Kenobi’s name was a frequent one at the Temple. Among all others, surely. General Skywalker’s too, if not more so, a Hero with no Fear, so young, inspiration for every soon-to-be padawan, but Cal found himself more inclined towards diplomacy; more gentle, subtle approach. Something that his peers teased him for sometimes, because at the time he wasn’t brave. He didn’t need to be. He wasn’t sure he was _brave_ now. He just did what he had to do. What was right. 

He used to wish for the war to end. Even if it meant that he would never be chosen as a Padawan — he knew too well that he wasn’t good enough to be chosen in peaceful times — being sent to Agri-corps was almost a welcome path, if it meant a peaceful existence. And now —

He still wished for peace, above all else. 

He knew that his Master did as well. For both of them; and for the universe, too. 

They couldn’t do much to fulfill their desire, not here, not when there were just the two of them, and restoring the Order… well… it wasn’t Cal’s quest, although it called for him, it did, that is, until the visions granted to him on Bogano. 

_“Help me, Master Kestis!”_

The screams still seemed to echo inside his head each time he thought of bearing that kind of responsibility.

He remembered how his heart bled over each of the younglings he didn’t even know, slayed by the troopers; he remembered fighting for their lives, in vain. He remembered surrendering, on his knees, because it was the only way to spare them from suffering, but — 

Then the cells. The torture. The _screams_. 

The Force itself screamed in agony, bleeding and bleeding, hues of blue and green and his own cyan slowly turning crimson, marred by darkness, anguish and their — no, _his_ — inability to withstand torture. 

It was partially the reason why he rejected the title of the Jedi Knight Cere had granted to him, when he came to Tatooine. He thought that now this feeling passed, with the holocron destroyed, but… it seemed to linger, when he stepped close to anyone young and sensitive to the Force. He… still felt the pull of it towards others, knew that the Jedi should stick _together, share what they know,_ his instinct was to reach out to the youngling, after all — but then there were shields, the barrier, and the feeling shattered, replaced by worry and dulled panic. And now all he could think of were screams and possible agony he could bring about. 

Master Kenobi was right after all. Perhaps the Force warned him about Cal, too. Thus, the mistrust. Thus, not telling. And he couldn’t tell it straight because he didn’t want to hurt his Padawan’s feelings. 

Because his Master was infinitely kind. Because his love could stretch beyond all limits. Because he could still love even the _fallen_ who proclaimed his hate upon the whole galaxy. 

Cal smiled and stood up, calm, the awful darkness he felt earlier gone from his chest completely. His thoughts went towards the wrecked speeder; he will use whatever free time he had to see what could be done to fix it. It would be… nice, if he could do something. His steps were soft as he made his way across the room towards the door, he was sure that he didn’t make any noise at all, and yet…

And yet there was a movement; a hint of a heavy sigh amidst otherwise even breathing, and Cal couldn’t help but flinch and turn around. 

He saw that the frown on Master Kenobi’s face deepened, one of his hands clenched into a fist. A bad dream, perhaps. And now, he had a choice. He could pretend he didn’t notice and do nothing, because Master Kenobi didn’t _need_ his help. Or he could allow himself to _care_. 

He hesitated, but only for a moment. 

It felt right to reach out, to project calm energy through their bond, and he dared not lurking inside the other’s dreams, although he knew that now he could have, and that it would have been _possible_ now, if not easy. Despite what his Master might have thought of him, he knew about the concept of privacy — though sometimes he just didn’t find it in himself to care enough to put his curiosity aside. Through the Force he gently brushed his mind against his Master’s, let his presence be felt, a silent “I’m here, if you ever need me”, but nothing more than that. He… didn’t know if he would ever be allowed to offer… to do more. 

He saw the frown gradually leave his Master’s face, his hand relax. Cal smiled heartily and strolled outside. 

The two suns shined brightly even at dawn, just as they did every morning here, on Tatooine. Cal inhaled the dry air, still bearing traces of night’s coolness. BD-1 followed him, and was now jumping around the speeder, eager to help out. 

“Ready to do some scans?” Cal asked him, squatting beside the droid and getting out his tools. He… hoped he had the things he needed, but it didn’t appear that way. He… might need to be more creative. 

The damage was extensive, but nothing too bad. Nothing he didn’t know how to fix. 

“Allright, buddy, out of the way now, I’m gonna disassemble that thing,” he told the droid, and BD listened, hopped onto his shoulder and stayed there, the heavy feel of him familiar, reminding of their adventures. 

They were friends, after all. 

Was he _attached_ to the droid? To the piece of wires and metal and plastic and transparisteel? Would his heart break if BD ever — 

Cal was afraid that it would. He remembered the relief he felt that one time they were reunited after — no. He had to concentrate, because what he wanted to do required focus, and the memories wouldn’t allow it. 

He touched the metal through the Force, straightening it, carefully — ever so slowly — shaping it back to what it once was. Then came the screws holding the panels in place, one by one, and Cal removed the panels by hand, because it was easier, because he did it a million times, without the Force, concealing it, burying it deep inside. He handled the torn wires by hand too, got stung by a spark of static electricity — _ouch!_ That one _hurt_!

He almost forgot about the second glove he had. He had to put it on too, if he wanted to get anything done. He wondered if he still had it. He picked up the screws from midair, released them from his Force-grip and rummaged through the pockets on his utility belt. Hm. There it was. Along with his headphones. He hasn't touched those since Bracca, either. Well. It might be a good time to finally blow the dust off them. 

Listen to his favourite songs. 

Let the rhythm drum in his ears, as he worked. 

It was _nice_ . He felt _nice_ . Familiar. Almost, _almost_ right, something he had been doing, it seemed, all his life. 

Five years on Bracca. With his _almost_ friends, because he couldn’t really open up to anybody, no matter how kind-hearted — even Prauf… 

He didn’t let himself dwell in the past. Didn’t let his thoughts stray from the rhythmic beat of the music to the crippling sadness of losses. The Force whispered that those were already a part of him, that there was no use picking on the old wounds, which barely healed, so he listened to its will. Trusted it. 

Fixing things was a little unfamiliar. He was more used to scrapping them, so, _that part_ was easy, what came next required some thinking to do, and he unconsciously put it off for as long as he could, unbending all the little pieces of metal and plastic, sorting through the bolts, and screws, and wires, until BD beeped at him questioningly — why the delay?

“I’m not sure, buddy, I think I’m just afraid to break it any further,” he told the droid and took off his headphones, the music giving way to the soft sounds of the howling wind and shifting dunes. 

“Why are you afraid of breaking something that’s already been broken, Padawan?”

With the music and work to do he didn’t notice that his Master has been watching him for some time already. For how long? Cal turned around and saw Obi-Wan standing in the shadow the hut provided, a cup of tea in his hand, whitish steam rising up from it. Not _too_ long, then. 

How he could drink the hot tea in _this_ weather still escaped Cal’s understanding. 

“It’s not like we could drag this wreck to Mos Espa to sell it, and the Jawas wouldn’t pay much anyway,” his Master continued with a shrug. 

“You seem to have little faith in my ability,” Cal laughed. 

“You said yourself that you were afraid of breaking it,” Obi-Wan offered. “Now, can I help you with anything? I don’t know much about that sort of thing, but if you need a hand…”

Cal couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. If they could spend a bit more time together— 

He smiled — wide, too wide for a Jedi, perhaps — nodded and got back to work. Obi-Wan watched him for a couple more seconds before coming closer, asking, what was it, exactly, he could help with. 

He was using the Force much more than his hands, when handling machinery, Cal noticed. His Force allowed for more precision, than Cal’s. He didn’t bother to sort through bolts and screws, just held them suspended in the air around them, floating, as if it required _no_ effort, and he could still bend metal, and chat, _and continue drinking his tea_ while maintaining focus.

“Could your… other Padawan do it too?” Cal asked, before realising, that it wasn't an ideal topic for a conversation. He wasn’t supposed to compare himself with anyone. He didn’t have the same background, the same training. His Force was different, he came to realise. Cere told him that psychometry was rare; otherwise he knew that he was a pretty bleak individual, but he didn’t mind.

“You mean Anakin?” 

There was a pause, and then, a soft chuckle, almost, but not yet a laugh. 

“Oh no, he was never good at it. But you will be.”

They continued to work through the day, slowly, through trial and error — so many errors, in fact, that Cal could feel his frustration building, his forehead glistening with sweat from the heat and irritation at the kriffing things that simply refused to work; burnt transistors, tangled, torn wires and sith-damn sand that got everywhere.

His Master remained calm, as he ever was. Not a single ripple in his ocean of serenity and peace. That was until — 

_“I hate sand!” Cal whispered, angry, but the anger was not his, not entirely._

— until he reached out, to touch Cal’s shoulder. 

Usually _that_ happened when _Cal_ touched things and people, not the other way around. He wasn’t sure why _that_ happened this time. 

He felt as if the air got knocked out of his lungs, as if something sharp hit him right through the heart. He gasped for air, feeling suddenly cold, drowning into an emotion — _just one_ — which he realised that he had only felt traces of before — 

> — _on Mustafar there was this, but also, Anakin’s anger. On Mustafar, the echoes were old, washed out. —_
> 
> _— And when he touched Vader, there was anger too, there was so much else going on, he had so much adrenaline — and stims — pumping through his bloodstream that he —_

_Agony_. There was no other word for it, or if there was Cal didn’t know it. He couldn’t hear a thing, couldn’t see the light of the two suns in the clear blue sky, as the world went suddenly dark before his eyes, still wide open — and it was cold, so cold the air burned his throat. 

He couldn’t take another breath. Choked. 

“Cal, snap out of it! Cal! Cal!”

Bolts, and screws, and pieces of metal, and a cerulean cup _—_ all fell down on the sand like rain, but he could no longer feel that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noes, Obi-Wan, get your hands off your Padawan!


	11. Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I was going to be busy this week? Well, apparantly, the Force wills me to stay at home and write more, lol. You can probably guess why.  
> So here you go! Another update! Yay!  
> Love you guys <3

_ “I hate sand!” _

Cal’s whisper was laced with someone else’s anger, too familiar, and it dragged unwanted feelings closer towards the surface. 

Still, Obi-Wan remained calm as he reached out and gently touched his Padawan’s shoulder, ready to suggest taking a break. It was already noon, and the suns’ heat was getting harsh, too. They could have a proper lunch, and then get back to work. Or they could meditate on what happened yesterday —

He didn’t have a chance to voice any of his suggestions, as Cal’s face suddenly twisted, his eyes flew wide open, a strangled cry bubbling from his throat, his body convulsing, as if from agony, lancing through him. His back arched unnaturally, hands tensed on the wires he held. He gasped for air, choked on it. Coughed. Couldn’t breath. 

Obi-wan jerked his hand back, despite his instincts to do the opposite, to hold his Padawan closer and ground him to reality. But with Cal it would only make it worse. He... didn’t  _ know _ what it was, but still had a vague idea. Probably, psychometry. Probably, the traces of his own agonizing heartbreak over Anakin, which a whisper about  _ kriffing sand  _ brought back to the surface, but probably amplified, because Cal’s ability was  _ probably  _ that — he sensed echoes, and this... was no echo. It was fresh, unfaded, bright, even after five years of meditations. 

The bolts and screws fell down on the sand, but Obi-Wan didn’t care. His Force was gently wrapped around Cal, because he couldn’t allow himself to touch him, but— 

He called to him, begging him to snap out of it, to get back to reality, to find a way from dark, cold waters of unwanted attachment and rejection, of heartbreak and loss.

Cal winced, violently, a low, feeble sound escaped his lips — a whimper, then a sob, still breathless, eyes unfocused, unblinking, and Obi-Wan  _ just didn’t know what he could do to help. _

He showed his own feelings deeper down, dragged something else to the surface —

The rush of riding a varactyl on Pijal, during the Grand Hunt, the eagerness of the beast and the excitement, the thrill of it all, better than any flying-  _ no, not that. _

His fondness for Bant, Ahsoka, Qui-Gon and Kit and  _ oh so many _ other Jedi.  _ No. Not that either. _

The calmness of open spaces, meditation halls in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, their whiteness extending out, limitless, the endless light, which could not ever be extinguished-  _ yet it was, crushed, overpowered by the Empire, done for,  _ so, again,  _ not that. _

The cyan rivers of Alderaan…  _ freshwaters of the sacred springs, transparent, reflecting light in a way no jewel ever could.  _ The greenery of moss on the rocks near the riverbanks, the gentle whispers of trees, and a birdsong, carrying across the land. 

Obi-Wan took Cal in his arms, pressed their foreheads together, held him close once more.

“Look, how beautiful it is,” he whispered, suddenly conscious that his voice was shaky, as he did his best to pour the images and feelings through their connection, hoping that it would be enough. “How the waters reflect the light, how they sparkle, just like you.” 

The waters so clear, so pure, they were just like the soul of his Padawan; they cut their way through rock and stone but remained unmarred by violence or anger, always gentle, smooth and… more than anything, calm. 

There was peace on Alderaan. 

Another broken whimper, another wet sob, but at least Cal was breathing now. At least, his eyes weren’t so scarily wide-open, as he finally relaxed in Obi-Wan’s arms. 

“‘m sorry,” he mumbled, tossing his head to the side, breath hoarse and hard, hot against Obi-Wan’s face. “Don’t know why… how it…”

“Not your fault,” he didn’t let Cal finish, didn’t let his thoughts stray too far from the peaceful scenery of Alderaan’s grassy plains. “Look, there’s more.”

The grass on Alderaan was soft, too. It rustled in the morning breeze, dew glimmering in the warm light of the rising sun. And in the distance one could see mountain peaks, covered in snow and softest clouds, blending into the transparent cyan-blue sky. And there were waterfalls on Alderaan too — enormous walls of white, sparkling light, they looked like clouds, from a distance, soft,  _ so soft _ , peaceful and calm.

He petted Cal’s hair, wiped a tear from his cheek and hugged him closer still, as tenderly as he could. They stayed like that for a long time, and then Cal tentatively wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan too, let out a softest sight of —  _ it seemed _ — relief, and in the next moment his whole body went completely limp. 

Obi-Wan stayed silent, as he picked his Padawan up, the memory of their second meeting fresh in his mind, almost a deja-vu, and carried him inside, away from the Tatooine’s two suns’ scorching heat. 

He wished he could take him away from this desert world. Show him Alderaan  _ for real _ . Or, perhaps, they could go somewhere far away — to the uncharted parts of the galaxy, and find a planet just as peaceful and beautiful, find solace in nature’s wonders and the flow of the Living Force, away from the fighting, from the Empire, from the suffering and pain and memories which prompted it, and there would be cities in gold, and there wouldn’t be place for fear of darkness —

No.

This line of thought would lead him nowhere. There was no use dwelling on things never to become, because he knew too well — he would never leave Tatooine. Not without Luke by his side anyway. And Larses… he didn’t even want to go down that path again.

They will stay here, in this desert. He will teach his Padawan what he knows about the Force and then send him away, as each Jedi Master should do. And then, Cal will do the same, when his time comes.

“I’m cold,” Cal told him, about an hour later, holding a cup of tea in one hand, as he sat across the table from Obi-Wan and looked at him, ghosts of pain still lingering in his eyes. “Do you still feel cold, Master? After all this time? Like this?”

Obi-Wan nodded, but dared not speak, as he felt the steady rhythm of Cal’s pulse on his wrist. He still held his hand, arm stretched over the table. 

“Was it really this bad? On Mustafar, when you… you know. Cut him down.”

Obi-Wan looked at their joined hands and wanted to pull his back, but Cal held it firmly in place.

“I will be fine. If it happens again, I  _ want to _ feel it.”

“Unwise.”

Cal flinched at a word, for some reason, but said nothing, not aloud anyway. Through the bond, however, Obi-Wan could pick up a stray line:  _ “Why does everyone want me to be wise, of all things? I’m a Jedi, not a scholar!” _

“It seems to me, Cal, that your powers amplify the echoes of emotions. So, no. It wasn’t.”

“They don’t amplify anything. If the memory is there, it is there. I feel it unchanged.”

“Still. We experience emotions differently. I’ve learned to block most of the pain, to release it into the Force as soon as it strikes. It doesn’t overwhelm me anymore. And to answer your question… It wasn’t the worst at the moment when my hand was forced upwards in defence, no. I think…”

He stayed silent for a moment, then glanced up at Cal once more. It was strange that his Padawan has such interest in Anakin’s fall and in his feelings towards him, but… Obi-Wan didn’t mind sharing, didn’t mind talking. It helped, in a way, although he failed to see what Cal found in it for himself. 

“He told me that it was the end for me. And called me his Master. Something he hadn’t done for a long time. And then I knew that  _ it was it _ . That I won’t be able to talk him down. I still tried. You already know the rest, I don’t want to spell it out.”

“Mm.” 

“And Cal, Anakin didn’t fall overnight. I watched him falling. I knew he was going down. Sometimes I feel that it was my hand that pushed him there. I deserve the pain I carry. Now, more than ever, knowing what had become of him,” Obi-Wan didn’t know why he was saying that, but the confession spilled from his lips, and Cal looked at him, his eyes free from judgement, but full of compassion, and not just for him. For both of them, for him and for Anakin too. 

“Master, you said yourself, he  _ chose  _ to fall.”

It was true. True, and yet, there were so many other ways to act, so many other choices to make, so many other possible futures in which…

Obi-Wan could have spared his beloved from suffering; he could have surrendered. It would have changed nothing, on the greater scale of things; his death would have changed nothing. The Empire would be just as strong; perhaps, there would have been more light inside Anakin’s soul, with both of his children by his side. Or maybe not. Maybe he would have remained the same corrupted, broken soul, manipulated into madness. But at least he wouldn’t have been mutilated the way he was now. 

Cal was silent for a long time, and silence stretched endlessly, but then, he sprung up, unexpected and swift, like a windflow. It took him exactly two steps to get around the table. Exactly two seconds he stalled before giving Obi-Wan an extremely awkward, shy hug. The purest thing. 

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping a boundary,” he said, his voice unsure. 

Obi-Wan hugged him back, the storm inside his soul calming, leaving behind just traces, washed out, replaced by cyan tenderness and peace. 

They spent the rest of the day outside, finishing the repairs and chatting about things unrelated to what happened. Mostly sharing stories about life experiences; and not the nice ones, too. It quickly turned into a competition; whose experience was the worst?

Cal told about that one time a co-worker spilled machine oil over his lunch on Bracca, and he didn’t have enough credits to buy himself anything else; he was just too hungry to leave it be, so he forced it down. Thank the Force he could stomach that. 

Obi-Wan parried with the story about a mission which dragged simply too long, and ration bars ran out. All the plants on the planet were poisonous, so he and the clones had to resort to eating the huge insects which dwelled in the rainforest in abundance. 

“I told them that we fed off the living Force.”

“Eww.”

Another set of wires was tied together, another transistor set in place, one more screw returned to its original position. Cal said that he had a good feeling about the outcome of the repairs, before he started telling another story. 

It was about his first time drinking; his guildmates had no idea that it was his first, and he wanted to seem tough, just like they perceived him. He was too afraid to reveal his true nature at the time, still fourteen, too eager to earn their trust, at least some sort of it. The alcohol burned his throat, but he managed to smile through it. It took him one glass of whatever it was to get utterly wasted, and three moree to knock him out completely; he didn’t remember anything afterwards. 

“You know the worst part? The next morning one of them came up to me and said something along the lines of “sorry, kid”. I was afraid that I let something slip so much that I’ve packed my things and prepared to run for it. And the hangover was the worst. I tripped and fell. Got this scar on my jaw.”

“Poor youngling,” Obi-Wan smiled at him, “You shouldn't have been drinking at all.”

“Believe me, I know.”

And with that, his Padawan put the last panel of the speeder in place and screwed in the last bolt. The suns were already setting, colouring the desert in the pinkish hues. 

“Hm. Looks like we are done.”

The speeder almost looked like it had never collided with a bantha. The question, however, wasn’t in the looks of the thing. 

Cal didn’t hesitate to hop on it, flick the ignition switch on; the engine started just fine, with a roar, like it always did, a second, less than a heartbeat, and the speeder took off —

Cal did two laps on it around the hut and came to an abrupt halt at the same spot. 

“See? You didn’t have to doubt me, Master! I made it work!” he beamed at Obi-Wan, hopping off the speeder. 

“You were the one who did the doubting. I merely pointed it out.”

Obi-Wan ruffled Cal’s hair, catching himself at that — it was becoming a habit, something he enjoyed doing, and he was unsure whether it was a good or a bad thing; he saw too many parallels in this action — he used to get fixated on Anakin’s hair too. But then again, Cal was  _ nothing  _ like Anakin. 

_ — yet his Force was sometimes colored the same blue. His voice had the same intonations in it when he said that line about sand. He had the same look of concentration on his face when he was dealing with mechanisms. He could go from zero to thousand in a matter of seconds just like —  _

He was nothing like Anakin.

“Well, now that we have the speeder up and running, I guess we could arrange some ‘saber practice tomorrow. What do you say? Are you up to it?”

Obi-Wan watched his Padawan’s eyes light up, happiness sparkling in them as if what he was offering was truly precious. 

“Sure! Yes!” 

Cal almost jumped from excitement, but contained his emotions, a serene expression quick to replace a hearty smile. Obi-Wan knew that he will have to give him a talk one day about it; bottling up like this was never healthy, one should either release emotions or experience them; otherwise… yeah, it would end up the same way it did back at Mos Espa, reaching a breaking point and finally cracking under pressure. 

But surely he wouldn’t be preaching about it now. Won’t ruin the precious moment. 

He took his Padawan’s hand instead and led him inside again. They had a dinner to prepare, and today they might even have something a bit more special than usual, thanks to Beru’s kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan, oh, Obi-Wan, my soul aches for you too.


	12. Cal Kestis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I've finally finished this chapted! Yay!!  
> Hope you like it!

The dinner was nice; much nicer than anything they had since his arrival on Tatooine, because food actually had flavour to it, this time around. The herbs Beru brought were spicy, and brought out the taste of rehydrated bantha meat; the mushrooms were a delight too. Cal savoured each bite, knowing that this was a rare treat. 

“Looks like we’re entering the dry season early this year” his Master said, although why he made this observation now, Cal didn’t know.

“There is a dry season here?” he asked, genuinely surprised. For him, Tatooine was just a desert; with no change in seasons, for all he knew it could get better, not worse. He was wrong, apparently. 

“Yes, there is.”

“What does it mean for us?” 

It was the only question that really mattered, although Cal was curious about many other things.

“Well, given that for the past few days I’ve got about twenty percent less water from the vaporator than usual, I’d say we’ll have to ration what we already have. So, no more soup, all the food will probably be as dry as sand.”

“It’s fine,” Cal said quickly, but he knew that it would probably not be as fine as he made it sound. Still, he tried not to think about the hardships soon to come; lived in the moment instead.

And there were other things that he worried about right now. He… had to tell Master Kenobi about his dreams. About the way Anakin Skywalker walked inside his head. And it was something that Cal didn’t want to do, really, although the reasons for that he didn’t exactly understand. 

They’ve finished dinner, put the plates into the sonic dishwasher, and Cal marvelled at the color — he wondered why all the tableware was cerulean, why Obi-Wan’s home had so much blue color in it, even though Tatooine, as a planet, had,  _ oh _ , a severe  _ lack _ of color. Only beige, and orange, and sandy browns, very tame, and even when they’ve been to Mos Espa, there wasn’t that much blue in the marketplace. Still, his Master managed to find the particular shade of — oh, it was  _ Anakin Skywalker blue, the color Cal had no chance to witness, but he could guess, there were accents of it everywhere, now that he looked — _

“Master, I wanted to tell you something,” Cal said, “Something very important.”

“I’m all ears,” Master Kenobi’s eyes were kind, as he gently took Cal’s hand. 

They’ve been wanting to meditate on the miraculous disappearance of the wound — well, again, this will have to wait. 

Cal didn’t know where to begin; Anakin was… overwhelming, for one thing. Their connection was a strange, tangled knot of uncertainty, a scary one, at that, too. 

“Do you remember that one time when I told you about the nightmare where I was being watched? By a Sith?”

He saw Obi-Wan nod, a shadow of concern flashing across his face.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with you that time, Master. I didn’t tell you the whole truth, because I wasn’t sure whether it was just a dream or not, but now I’m sure that that wasn’t. The Sith, who watched me, was…” 

Cal stalled. He didn’t know which name to use. Should he call him Anakin? Or, perhaps, Darth Vader would have been more fitting? For him, Vader was the dark shadow who towered over him like a mountain, a black helmet and a bright red saber, the demon who slayed Trilla with no mercy, the one who turned his own lightsaber around and ignited it, made it slice through Cal’s lung with a  _ whoosh _ , as complacency radiated off him. And  _ Anakin  _ — Anakin was a lost soul, a stray memory of love, bitterness and betrayal. His Master’s past. Who was in his dreams, Cal wasn’t sure. Still — 

He decided that calling Anakin by the name given to him by the Dark side wasn’t right. 

“...Anakin. He said that I was in  _ his  _ dream the first time, and threw me off the ledge into lava. And today he was in mine, said that it was  _ unwise  _ to drag him inside my head, started questioning me, but… I don’t know, I think the connection broke off somehow.”

Cal stared at his Master, who just sat there, silent, his eyes now distant, as if he wasn’t here any longer. The news must have hit him hard; Cal noticed how his lips were now pressed into a thin line, and how tense his hands were.

“Master,” he said tenderly and leaned forward — just a bit — to touch him, but Obi-Wan mirrored his movement, avoiding it. 

He collected himself seconds after. 

“What you are experiencing might be some type of a Force-bond. Also, I’ve noticed that the Force around you tends to change its color; yours is cyan, but sometimes it switches to a darker shade, I wondered what could be causing…”

“It’s cerulean blue sometimes, right?” The words flew out of his mouth before he could bite his tongue and remain silent. His Master nodded.

“You should be careful, Cal. Shield. Don’t tell him anything, don’t  _ show  _ him anything. Pick your own battles. He cannot hurt you in your dreams but he can try to manipulate you into telling where you are. He isn’t good at manipulating people, but his allies are.” 

“I promise I won’t let anything slip.”

“I trust you.”

Cal didn’t expect to get anything more than that, really. He didn’t know what he expected, but he felt better, knowing that now Master Kenobi knew. 

They decided to meditate outside this time, beneath the stars. The nights were never dark on Tatooine; because there were too many moons, and the stars were bright, like shards of kyber crystals on Ilum, sparkling white. 

The night was silent, save for the sounds of their breathing, and it was easy to concentrate on just that, or the constellations in the indigo-blue sky, Cal found. The stars pulled him towards them, echoes of violence, struggle and fighting; he knew that he had to be there — along the rebellion, fighting against the Empire, against the evil, and not sitting on the sand, in exile, dealing with his emotional trauma, caused by —  _ Force _ , it was ridiculous. He wasn’t obliged to fight. The Order was no more. Nobody urged him to fight. He didn’t _ have to _ do it. 

He tried to push this thought aside, ignore the pull of the stars, ground himself on something else, and there was plenty other things to concentrate on — the sea of beige sand around them, the endless dunes — 

He wondered whether Tatooine has always been just that, a desert planet, covered by a sea of sand. Was it because of the two suns? Was it because people here sold water as a commodity? Was it, perhaps, a natural disaster? 

Why did Obi-Wan Kenobi come here, of all places —

“You seem to have trouble concentrating.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Want me to help?”

It was Cal’s turn to silently nod and stay silent, as he opened up his mind, allowing his Master to once again guide him towards the light — peace. 

They walked across the currents of the Force together, analyzing the situation they faced; Cal offered all his memories, every feeling, every sense, every detail he could recall, and his Master did so as well. 

Cal knew now that the decision to mind-trick Owen Lars didn’t come easy, and that his Master was genuinely worried for him, that his desire to help was endless, just as his knowledge that he couldn’t really do anything, because Force-healing wasn’t really  _ a thing,  _ because the Jedi could survive many hardships, but if the wound was fatal, well —

_ Qui-Gon Jinn died in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s arms because there was no way the Force could heal him. _

But something happened the moment his Master’s Force touched him; it was as if it hit a lens, was refocused and amplified to an  _ extreme,  _ and that was what allowed it to not just help Cal concentrate, but to heal. 

Cal knew that people used to describe his presence in the Force as transparent, it wasn’t a secret, but only now he saw a parallel between this, and a throw-away line from the youngling. 

_ “ _ _ And you are like a lens. You don’t have much of anything yourself, but if something shines through you, it might even burn.” _

So that’s what it was. 

Another one of his powers, and he was supposed to be someone’s companion, in order for it to be of any use. A mirthless laugh escaped his throat, even through the trance. Even if he learns to use it — his Master won’t ever leave this planet, because apparently there is this youngling, whom he sworn to protect — 

Well, if he was ever to leave and fight, he had Cere, and Merrin, they were both Force-sensitive, although — Cal wasn’t sure he would like to… ah, on the battlefield it wouldn’t matter, what he would be comfortable with. Merrin was a nice person, and if she wielded the Dark, it didn’t matter, not really, as long as the Dark didn’t stain her. Cere remained shut off the Force, because… well. She feared that her green would bleed to red if she didn’t. The Fortress showed that it was… a possibility still. 

Deep breath in, slow breath out. 

When he opened his eyes, Master Kenobi was looking at him, mesmerized, as if Cal was a human-sized fire ruby, and he was a jewelry thief. 

“Not many Jedi have this type of power,” he said softly, words resembling those of Cere, about psychometry. 

Only this time around Cal had nothing to say back. He thought that he’d rather trade it for simply having more connection to the Force around him, more of the simple, raw power, because in battle it proved to be more useful than chasing echoes and — he couldn’t think of any way to apply this skill, because on his quest he was, mostly, alone. With a droid. 

He looked at Obi-Wan and then — away, to the stars. He felt that if his eyes lingered at the sight of his Master a second too long he might say something incredibly stupid, something like  _ “I lo _ -

No. He knew better than that.

He knew better than that, because he was exposed to someone else’s feelings, affected by them, re-lived someone else’s emotions again and again, through his nightmares, those awful dreams, and now… his own affection was mixed with echoes of Anakin’s love, which was sick, and dark, and twisted, a burning feeling which couldn’t exist inside a Jedi’s soul. 

Cal tried to smile, but it didn’t turn out quite the way he wanted. Still, his Master gave him space and didn’t question it. He was… thankful. 

He didn’t have any dreams that night and Master Kenobi woke him up before dawn. He was still a bit sleepy as he got dressed, but thoughts about saber practice were surely lightening up his mood.

“I would like you to memorize the way,” Master Kenobi told him, as they approached the speeder. “You will be the one driwing on the way back.”

“Okay!” Cal replied eagerly. 

To be completely honest, he half-expected Master Kenobi not to trust him with that sort of thing after what happened, and was glad that it wasn’t the case. He was also glad that this time they made it to the canyon by sunrise, before it got too hot; he noticed that the air seemed to be much drier than usual, too, unpleasantly so. 

Nothing changed since their last visit, although Cal noticed that the remotes weren’t exactly untouched, either. He remembered they were laid down differently last time, and they weren’t covered by a layer of sand or dust — which would have inevitably have happened were they untouched for more than two weeks in the desert. That could have meant only one thing: while he slept, his Master trained. Well, it wasn’t exactly surprising, no, but if Cal wasn’t at least a bit nervous about his performance before, he surely was now. Were they going to have the duel, like before? Would it be just as hard, as before, or, perhaps, now, when his body was finally well-rested, he would be able to pull himself together without  _ just one more stim _ ? Would he feel just as helpless, time and time again, laying on the sand on his back with his lightsaber just too far out of reach?..

“Catch!”

At least his reflexes didn’t fail him, and he reacted in time, as Master Kenobi tossed him a training remote. 

“We will begin with katas, and then move on to sparring. Also, I’d like you to start with the basics, meaning, Form I, using just one blade.”

Cal nodded. It made sense, to start from the beginning. He fiddled with the controls of the remote a bit, adjusting the settings, and then tossed it into the air, as his other hand curled around his lightsaber’s hilt. 

_ Finally. _

He could feel the Force swirling around the blade of cyan light, as it ignited with a soft _whoosh._ Sweep of an arm. A step back. Then one to the right. And another sweep. The Force was his guide, its whispers clear. And his body finally did exactly what it should without excess concentration needed to keep his hands from shaking. Everything seemed so much better than before, Cal knew he could do it for hours —

“Move on to Form II.”

It didn’t matter which one Master Kenobi asked him to perform, Cal felt pretty confident about his performance, even if he got any remarks — like the one about the fact that his shoulders were too tense, or that his stance was a bit off. He was quick to correct himself and didn’t take them to heart; it was a learning process after all, and he knew that he wasn’t perfect. He was learning, and it was what mattered.

A step, a turn, a sudden stop, retreat. Repeat it all again, as his lightsaber sliced through the air, deflecting shots. It felt good, to finally  _ move _ , feel his muscles stretch, feel his heart beat faster. 

Training was different from  _ fighting _ , because —

He wasn’t inflicting pain. He wasn’t bringing destruction upon anyone. He wasn’t going against his own desire for peace. 

He danced together with the flow of the Force, in an almost trance-like state. The suns above his head didn’t matter. The sand beneath his feet didn’t matter.

The blinding bright blue whooshed near his side and Cal blocked it, igniting the second blade of his ‘saber. Saw his Master smirk smugly — proud that he didn’t miss it, Cal could tell through their bond — as his eyes sparkled with excitement. Obi-Wan was just as intense as the first time, his presence in the Force an almost overwhelming thing, his movements fluid, and he was — oh,  _ illusive _ , for lack of a better word. Cal couldn’t reach him, so he evaded instead, mirrored his Master’s movements instead, although it proved to be not that easy. Despite being so much younger, he quickly realised that he — he wasn’t as physically fit, as  _ flexible _ and graceful as his Master was… He wanted to be. He would be. 

He was sure he would be, one day, if he tried hard enough. 

Their duel stretched for hours, as the two suns slowly crawled upwards through the blue cloudless sky, and Cal realized that he wasn’t feeling just as tired as he did the first time around. Perhaps it had to do with stims, which were no longer in his system, or the fact that his body adjusted to the planet’s heat. Still, he knew that he was sweating, that he was pushing his body closer to the limits, once again, as he aimed, summoned the Force to helm him, jumped, felt the burn in his muscles, and landed just a bit off his feet —

The sweat was evaporating right off his skin; the air was so dry, that he could feel it leave a burning feeling in his throat, as he took deep breaths.

“I guess that's enough for today,” Master Kenobi told him, as he switched his lightsaber off, and handed Cal a flask of water. “It’s getting too hot to go on, I don’t want either of us to risk overheating.”

Cal gulped water greedily, only now realizing how thirsty he was. Then, he remembered yesterday’s talk about the dry season and rationing water. Oh. Oh. That won’t do. He couldn’t drink all of it. He stopped. Licked his lips. Enough is enough, then. 

“Thanks.”

“You did great, Cal. We will practice again tomorrow.”

This was more than he could have ever asked for. 

Mos Espa hasn’t changed at all since their last visit. The market was the same — it still covered the streets like a lichen, aliens of all shapes and sizes traded everything; haggled over gems, starship parts, food… Did some creepy-looking twi'lek just try to sell  _ sand  _ to a wookie? Wow, that was going just a bit too far.

They made their way through the shops, stocking up on the supplies they needed. Cal could feel a bit of a deja-vu, as his hands were getting full off stuff, but this time, he wasn’t so lost in thoughts, he was smiling, as he watched his Master make his way through the city. He felt at peace with the world around him. 

He watched silently as they stopped again at the same  jewellery trader as the first time. Cal looked at the beads, spread on the beige canvas fabric, covering the table, and then glanced at his Master. Why did they come here? What was Obi-Wan looking for this time?

The bead his Master chose was cerulean blue, a perfectly round, polished sphere. A full price was paid for it. Cal knew that it was going straight to his braid as soon as they returned home, yet, he felt conflicted about it, somehow. 

Ah, no matter. He guessed it was true that Anakin Skywalker was a part of his life and training; his trial. 

They were preparing to leave already, when he felt a pull of the Force towards —  _ there  _ just around the corner… 

_ “Go” _ it whispered, _ “There is something for you there.” _

He touched his Master’s shoulder, told him that he needed a few minutes.

“Don’t take too long,” there was a question in his eyes, as he let him go, but permission was all Cal needed.

He followed the whispers of the Force, as if it was a magnet which pulled him closer to — to what? Where?

There was a trader there, mostly spare parts for starships inside his shop; stripped from the republic ships, too. Not much else, aside from mechanic junk.

“You wanted something?” show owner, a dug with strangely long whiskers, asked him, in a heavily accented basic. 

He was an unfriendly fellow, Cal thought, as he looked around, and it was then his eyes fell on the only object which looked like it _ didn’t belong.  _

The Force sang, as he took a step closer. 

Yes, it was this, what called to him.

A musical instrument. It looked almost like the one which Cere had on Mantis, but was made out of some light wood, had more strings, three oval soundholes, a shorter neck… it was smaller, too. Almost like a lute, but not quite. There was a faded orange silk cord tied to it, with a shard of kyber on its end — who in the world used kyber crystal as a pick to play an instrument? But there was no other point in keeping a kyber tied there like this…

He heard a song, and not just of the Force, but also — a kyber crystal wept, away from someone it held dear. And was it blood on the silk cord? Was it blood on the light wooden surface, just where the polish got a bit abraded —

“How much for this thing?” Cal asked, pointing in the direction of the instrument. 

The shop owner wrinkled his nose. 

“This? You can just take it free of charge, if you promise that you won’t bring it back, screaming, the first thing tomorrow.”

Nobody ever gave anyone anything for free, on Tatooine, and yet… 

Cal understood that if he touched the instrument, he would feel the echo, and from the dug’s words he gathered that it was probably going to be too strong to suppress and just go on — 

He took off his poncho and wrapped the instrument in it, careful to avoid touching it with his bare hands, shielding his mind as he did it, dampening everything, stubbornly refusing to feel the Force —

Someone else’s pain still leaked through, and he had to bite his lip not to give in to the vision. 

He felt concern from his bond with Master Kenobi.

_ “Are you alright?” _

He thanked the shop owner, who muttered something in a language Cal didn’t know, and hurried back to the speeder. He would be fine. He could keep his mind shielded for a couple of minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHat did u want to say, Cal, right there, that "I lo-" what was that??? Could you maybe??? Say it aloud???
> 
> PS- the musical instrument he found ressembles an arabic oud if any of you want the visual reference, but smaller version of it.


	13. Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I've finished another chapter!!  
> Obi-Wan's POV is somehow harder to write, sooo yeah.

Obi-Wan didn’t _panic_ when Cal suddenly went silent in the Force, shutting off their connection, suddenly growing distant and cold. No. He didn’t panic. He refused to _panic_ ; it was just — natural, to _worry_ about his Padawan, who suddenly disappeared among the crowd, whom he felt _hurting_ at the last moments —

Why were his apprentices _always_ making him —

Why were they _always_ so reckless, unpredictable, so —

He was about to go search for the boy, when Cal emerged from across the street, his poncho wrapped around something that he carried with great care, but also like… like he didn’t want to hold it, and the thing inside the fabric felt borderline _dark_. Cal’s movements were strained, brows furrowed, he was biting his lip, hard enough to make it bleed, oh, what could have happened —

“Are you okay, Cal?” Obi-Wan repeated his question, as his Padawan stopped in front of him, hesitating.

“Yes, but... Master, could you…” Cal’s breath was uneven, his eyes hazy, vision clouded. “Could you take this off my hands? It might not be nice, but could you?”

Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate, as he took whatever Cal gave him, unwrapped it, as it almost hit him; the pain, the suffering, someone else’s heartbreak. He didn’t need to have psychometry to sense it; there was no vision, he couldn’t know the exact circumstances of whatever came to pass, but for a moment he just stood there, petrified, the lute in one hand, and Cal’s poncho in the other. 

It took him several seconds to pull himself together; he could only imagine how hard it was for his Padawan, who was much more sensitive to echoes. He gave Cal his poncho back and looked at the lute. 

It looked somehow familiar, the pale snow-wood contrasting with darker shades of kriin. The faded silk cord was tied around its neck, silencing the thing, and there was a kyber crystal tied to it — oh that could only mean one thing. The instrument belonged to a Jedi. Kyber crystals had strange effects on those who weren’t Force-sensitive, so they couldn’t use them _so_ — so casually, so randomly. That little shard was the colour of the sun, the liquid gold, a unique color for a lightsaber, a rare color for a Jedi’s soul. 

> He suddenly remembered how the sun shined through the windows of the Halls of Healing, he remembered pacing the corridor, frowning, waiting for the healers to summon him — to allow him to see his padawan, after what happened on Geonosis. There was no peace back then, none, because he felt Anakin’s pain, because Geonosis had been _awful._ Because so many were now dead, and Dooku still managed to escape. Because he should be mourning the dead and all he was concerned about was — 
> 
> His Padawan lost his right hand. He was responsible for it. He _failed_ to protect him. Didn’t find it in himself to get up from the ground in time, he —
> 
> “Walking around in circles won’t get you anywhere. So, stop.”
> 
> The voice of another Jedi sounded annoyed, more than anything. Obi-Wan guessed, that serenity eluded them all, now. He looked at the man leaning against the wall: pale skin, chestnut-colored curly hair doing a great job of hiding horns on his head, but nothing could be done about tribal tattoos on his face, even though they had faded to almost nothing. Half-zabrak, probably, and although Obi-Wan wasn’t the one to judge by race… he couldn’t help but _remember how a brilliant blade of red went right through his Master’s chest._
> 
> He thought that he was over it long ago, but, apparently, he was _not. O_ r, perhaps, what happened has thrown him off balance more than he had dared to admit. 
> 
> He has never seen this Jedi in the Temple before, not once. But somehow he felt that they had met before. Several times, in fact. 
> 
> “Do I know you?”
> 
> “No. But I’ve seen you before, on Ilum.”
> 
> “I don’t remember seeing _you_ there.”
> 
> “Well, you didn’t. I don’t interrupt those who come to face the trials, I work with the crystals, not with people. So you might have felt me in the Force, but nothing more. That’s why you feel that you know me.”
> 
> “I’ve never seen you on Coruscant before either.”
> 
> It really was strange, that their paths have never crossed. There weren’t that many Jedi in the galaxy, Obi-Wan was confident that he saw everyone at least once or twice, and yet — 
> 
> “It’s the _last_ place in the galaxy I’d rather be. But… You aren’t the only one, whose Padawan decided to engage in _mindless violence_ and suffered for it.”
> 
> Oh. Oh _that_.
> 
> “I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan told him, although he still felt hypocritical, because he didn’t truly care about some other kid, as long as Anakin was —
> 
> But he could relate. At least he could offer this stranger that.
> 
> “I wish I was sorry. But I think that my Padawan just learned his lesson. About what violence leads to.”
> 
> Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say to that. From one point of view, he understood what the other Jedi meant. He didn’t like the war, but what other way there was to maintain peace? Sometimes, when other people refused to stand up for themselves, the Jedi had to step in, lightsaber in hand, thay had to help those in need. 
> 
> Even if that meant self-sacrifice. 
> 
> He wanted to start talking, when...
> 
> “Why don’t we take this conversation elsewhere? I don’t want our _heated argument_ to disturb those who need to heal,” the half-zabrak told him with a mirthless smile. 
> 
> There was no heated argument, as they walked through the Temple, because his new acquaintance — Anik Vahaan was his name — turned out to be a good listener, and was ready to nod and agree with most of Obi-Wan’s reasoning. There was no heated argument as they passed the Room of a Thousand Fountains, talking about how after Geonosis both of their souls should have been mourning about the dead, and yet, all the thoughts were centered around those who were closest — even though the Code said that attachment was forbidden. 
> 
> “I've been thinking about that too,” Master Vahaan said sadly, as he stopped in front of the window and looked up, towards the clear blue sky. 
> 
> “On Ilum, there are thousands of kyber crystals. Yet, only some of them call to you in song once you come there.”
> 
> There was a faded yellow cord tied around his wrist, and on it — a shard of kyber, liquid gold in color, too small to become a heart of a lightsaber. The color of the sun, which was slowly setting, coloring lower levels of Coruscant in orange hues.
> 
> “I think people's souls are like kyber crystals, in a way. You can’t help but care more about some of them. Because they call for you. Because they _need_ you to be there for them.”

Strange, how the Force could bring things across the galaxy; he was sure that neither Anik Vahaan nor his Padawan, whose name Obi-Wan didn’t even know, had ever set foot on Tatooine, and this — well, together with the dark stain of the Force on the lute, it could only mean one thing. Both Jedi were mercilessly slayed by the clones or worse; Obi-Wan didn’t want to think about their fate for a second longer than he had to. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked Cal softly.

“I felt the Force pulling me towards one of the shops,” his Padawan explained, as he hopped on the speeder, trying to act calm, but Obi-Wan could feel that he wasn’t. Not at all, even though he wasn’t shielding as much now. “The owner gave it to me free of charge. He was glad I took it away.”

“I’m not surprised,” Obi-Wan muttered. “We will talk about it, once we get home, alright?”

Cal nodded, smiled. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help, but shake his head. He knew that following the lead of the Force was important, it was something that he preached himself, but he also thought that — well, picking your own battles was just as crucial. Because the Force’s will might sometimes be too much for one person to handle, and he didn’t want Cal subjecting himself to the memories of someone’s sufferings. Sufferings of people whom he didn’t know. Whom he had never met — not even once. 

The trip back home across the Dune Sea was a smooth one. Cal was a careful driver; at least, when he wasn’t alone. He seemed to have memorized the way perfectly, too. Obi-Wan found himself trusting him enough to relax and not pay too much attention to his surroundings; allow himself to be a passenger on this ride and wrap his arms around his Padawan’s frame.

He thought about how… how far Cal has come since their first meeting. He was so much stronger already; their practice today — a perfect example of just that. With his concentration in tact, Cal Kestis could achieve great heights, even if his stance in basic ‘saber forms needed to be corrected from time to time; it didn’t matter all that much on practice; it didn’t matter when he faced those who used to be untrained Padawans before falling to the dark themselves, it didn’t matter, when he faced stormtroopers. 

Cal was unique; he could take anyone by surprise, merely by that trick he had going on with his lightsaber — double-bladed, yet not really, because there were two weapons combined in one, astonishingly balanced, despite being made out of scraps. His battle style was just that; bits and pieces he saw somewhere, collected across the stars and made into something completely new; whole. With just a little nudge forward it was promising to become so much more than a flickering light it was right now.

Obi-Wan felt proud; _so proud_ , and he let Cal know, through the Force connection that they shared, and he knew that his Padawan smiled, shy, but content, leaned back into his touch — just a bit, almost unnoticeably.

“Don’t get distracted,” Obi-Wan laughed quietly. 

“I’m not,” Cal breathed, his smile growing wider. 

They arrived home long before dusk, while suns were still high in the sky, the heat almost burning hot. It was much hotter here, in the middle of the Dune Sea, so they hurried inside, hauling everything they’ve bought. Obi-Wan carefully carried the lute inside as well, set it on the table, where it loomed over them, despite being, truly, small in size. 

The kyber crystal sparkled in the light shining through the window, yellow; same yellow as the sun — but also, same yellow as the eyes of a Sith. Together with the pain and darkness, radiating from the instrument, it really could be either of those, and he couldn’t bring himself not to think of it, now that he’d noticed the similarity. Anakin’s eyes burned the same yellow back at Mustafar.

Cal set the last canister of water down and looked at him, a flicker of some emotion Obi-Wan couldn’t quite pinpoint in his eyes. 

“I wanted to talk to you, Cal,” he said in a soft voice. “About this lute you’ve found.”

“Yes, Master?”

His Padawan continued to stare at him, wide-eyed, for a moment more, before looking away, almost hastily, a touch of blush spreading over his cheeks. No; he must be seeing things.

“I wanted to tell you that… no matter what the Force tells you, Cal, you _have to_ pick your own battles,” he said. “Because sometimes the Force can be cruel.”

“I don’t care how much it hurts, if the Force wills it, I've already told you that, Master.”

It amazed Obi-Wan how calm his Padawan’s voice was; how steady. How he appeared not to be scared at all — nor of the echo which waited for him, shall he touch the lute, nor of the hardships of the dry season ahead.

“Sometimes, Cal, I think, you should.”

“Shouldn’t the Jedi always be selfless?”

“We should. But think about it this way: what if you push yourself too hard and eventually break? You came here because you could no longer take what the Force had in store for you, am I not right?”

His Padawan seemed at a loss for words; seemed on the verge of being ashamed. And even in the Force he tried to appear even more transparent than usual; as if he wasn’t here at all.

“Now; I know that there were people in your path who took your choices away from you, and I’m not going to do that. I’m here to help you, to guide you, but the final decision will always be yours.”

Another nod, and Cal’s eyes travelled across the room to the table; to the lute. He looked at it with curiosity, without fear. He looked at it as if he could feel the _physical_ pull of the Force towards the damn thing. 

Obi-Wan didn’t like it, and yet, what could he do? Pushing Cal towards a decision he himself would have preferred would have been wrong. 

“I’ll wait until tomorrow. And, Master. I would like you to help me. Will you?”

How could his Padawan ever doubt him?

“How could I not?”

Cal’s smile was ever so soft, and it was nice, to know, that he felt reassured, just by the promise. 

The rest of the day went by as usual — they’ve made dinner, although nothing fancy this time; meditated, when the suns were close to setting and the heat wasn’t unbearable; from the dusk and late into the evening. Went to sleep; as usual. Obi-Wan still felt a bit guilty that his Padawan slept by the door, but Cal didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed comfortable, among numerous pillows and blankets he stockpiled there, from all around the house, leaving Obi-Wan himself with just one of each thing; not that he minded.

“I wanted to tell you something, Master,” Cal told him, almost whispering it, but in the darkness of the room his voice still sounded loud and clear. Or, perhaps, it was their bond, the bluish-cyan string in the Force, which grew stronger each day, that made it so. 

“Mm?”

There it was again in the Force — that emotion, muffled, silenced, sharp around the edges. It was something important, Obi-Wan came to realise, and he listened, but no words came, for the longest time. Just the sound of his Padawan’s even breathing. 

And then...

“Meeting you… was the best thing that has ever happened to me. In my whole life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet my special OC child Anik Vahaan, who is a total douchebag and deserves to die a horrible death. Just kidding. 
> 
> Also, Cal, get a grip! Say it! *Palpatine voice* Do it! Do it!


	14. Cal Kestis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm. Have you noticed that Cal's chapters are always longer than Obi-Wan's? 'cuz I did.  
> Also, this chapter is somehow OC-heavy, so, deal with it.

Cal had no idea how he had mastered the courage to say it; how he decided that it was, in the end, a good idea to share his revelation with Master Kenobi. Still, he thought that honesty was his best bet when dealing with emotions he couldn’t quite grasp yet; he thought that if he finally let the words out they would stop burning him from the inside. 

It helped; in a way. He didn’t expect to get any sort of a reply, none at all, or, perhaps, a reprimand was in order. A lengthy talk about how he shouldn’t be talking in absolutes; about how emotions hinder a Jedi in just too many ways. What he got was —

Just so different. 

His feelings were accepted for what they were; he wouldn’t have dreamt of having them returned, no, but acceptance was more than enough. His Master let him know that he wasn’t just a hindrance, that he was cherished too; a beloved apprentice, although they didn’t spend much time together, he really was exactly that — 

That’s what Obi-Wan Kenobi called him. 

“My beloved Padawan.”

And in that moment, in the dark, it didn’t matter to Cal that he still remembered that Obi-Wan used the exact same term referring to Anakin, when they had a conversation about attachments and the Code. It didn’t matter at all, because he chose to believe that every Padawan had a chance to be equally adored. He smiled, even though his eyes burned with tears — it was for just a moment, because the feeling he experienced was so high-pitched, but the burn of unshed tears was there. 

There was no peace, perhaps, but there was happiness, surely. And it didn’t feel wrong. 

Master Kenobi woke him up before dawn the next morning too, which meant another round of lightsaber practice. Cal didn’t expect that; for some reason he thought of it as a reward, and not something that they… on the other hand, however, he was a Jedi Padawan, and were they in the Temple, practice would have been his everyday routine, so there really was no room for surprise.

Still, he felt ecstatic about it. Every second of it filled him with joy and satisfaction, even when he didn’t get the praises; and when he did, well — 

They had breakfast there, at the foot of the mountain, watching the suns go up and paint the world in pinks, and reds, and yellows; watched the sky slowly turn from black to purple and then to clearest blue.

“I used to watch the sunrises on Bogano,” Cal said then, leaning on a warm stone, “I couldn’t really meditate then, but I faked it, looking at the sun. It almost felt right. Almost brought me back to feeling at peace with the world.”

His Master didn’t reply, but Cal didn’t need to hear his answer to know that he understood why he shared this. He felt Obi-Wan’s hand ruffle his hair, and he closed his eyes. It was — oh, all he ever wanted, all he ever, truly wished for. The acceptance, the training he got, the simple life without constant battles; there was finally, finally peace, and he was so grateful to the Force for leading him here, to this very spot in space and time. 

He might have thought of Tatooine as an unwelcoming place at first, but in the end, it didn’t matter at all. 

His Master told him, on their way back home, that it was his focus, that determined his reality and Cal thought that it was probably true. He didn’t care that the suns were burning hot; he didn’t care that the sand was coarse, he didn’t care that the air was dry enough to make his nose bleed from time to time, he wasn’t scared of the memories he was going to live through once they arrived home. 

He found his balance in the bright blue of his Master’s Force, and in the clear blue of the sky above their heads; in the beige sepias of the sands, in the orange hues of the suns and in the promise of green he sometimes could guess somewhere on the fringes of his mind — Luke, the youngling’s name was, and he was living happily there, with his aunt and uncle, somewhere far away. 

Cal didn’t want to meet him again, but he was sure that he would, one way or another, because the Force was full of intention around them. Still, there was no use in haste, and Cal didn’t overthink. He had other things to do… so many other things to do…

By the time they got home, Cal had almost forgotten about the lute which somehow managed to dominate the room despite being so small; he didn’t even know whether it was the musical instrument itself or the kyber crystal, attached to it, which radiated such darkness. 

“I’ve never seen a kyber of such color before,” Cal said, still a bit reluctant to touch the thing. He hasn’t decided how to approach it, yet. He knew that he wanted to utilise his newfound skill of using other’s strength, yet the question remained, how. A shared meditation might work, he reasoned, it might make the vision more controlled, might help him to give in less. Did he  _ want  _ to give in less? Did  _ the Force _ want him to give in less?

Of that, he wasn’t entirely sure. 

“Yellow is a rare color, it’s true,” Obi-Wan gently took the lute from the table to take a closer look at the crystal, it seemed. “Still, not as rare as…”

“Does it mean anything?” Cal couldn’t help but interrupt. 

“Well, the colors themselves don’t have any meaning; they merely indicate the basic underlying predisposition… They also change over time, that’s why younglings do not have a color in the Force. But if you are so curious, blue was supposed to indicate a guardian, green was for consulars, yellow used to mean a sentinel. However, one of the Jedi owning a yellow blade was… well, we had but one conversation, and from it I thought that all he ever wanted in his entire life was to sit on Ilum and sort through shards of kyber until his hands froze off. I wouldn’t call  _ that  _ a sentinel.”

“Sounds more like he should have had a green one. Although it doesn’t really fit either.”

“It doesn’t. But all of the crystals he had on him were this exact color. I remember, because it was the color of the sun on Coruscant the day we met.”

Cal said nothing, because what could he contribute to this conversation, other than… a nod, perhaps? A silent apprehension of a partially untold story. 

They decided that meditation was indeed the best way to tackle this; still, his Master asked him twice, whether he was sure of his choice. 

He was. 

Deep breath in. Slow breath out. 

He knew what the Force wanted him to do, and he knew that he had the strength to do it. 

_ “I’m here for you.”  _

A reassuring whisper reached him through their bond, through the trance-like state, and he knew that there was no reason to be scared. No reason at all. 

> He didn’t fight it this time, unlike the time he took hold of Trilla’s lightsaber, and this time it didn’t hurt him. Yet he wasn’t  _ Cal Kestis _ in this, wasn’t  _ himself _ , and someone else was  _ hurting _ . 
> 
> He was looking at a Jedi Master, who smiled mirthlessly; looked infinitely tired in his yellowishly-white robes. 
> 
> “I want to leave the Order, Keine, once the war is over,” he said, running a hand through his hair; which obscured — oh, was this Jedi master a zabrak?
> 
> “But, Master, what about me? Us? Anik, you can’t do it!” Cal — no, he was  _ Keine  _ in his vision, whoever that was — felt betrayed, lost, hurt. There was something else, too, on the verge of being too much, and his eyes darted from his Master to the clone troopers, their armor painted purple. He was tall enough to look them in the eyes, Cal noticed. “Commander Corusca, tell him, he can’t just  _ leave _ !”
> 
> But Commander Corusca didn’t listen. 
> 
> Neither did three other troopers; Keine knew their names; Solari, Quixioni and Upari; they had all stood there, for a brief moment, stupefied, hands raised to their helmets. 
> 
> Then all Keine could smell was blaster fire. 
> 
> _ All Cal could feel was Keine’s fear and his Master’s resolve. _
> 
> There was a sudden presence in the Force, sharp and unrelenting, bright amber-yellow, there was a severe hum of a lightsaber, and the smell of burnt flesh.
> 
> “Padawan, get behind me!”
> 
> Four troopers were dead, sliced in pieces, but Cal knew that there were more. Keine didn’t know that yet, Keine looked at his hands — his left one prosthetic, fingers on his right one — too. Keine looked at his feet, both prosthetic below the knees. Keine finally took his lightsaber, feeling wrong, deep inside. 
> 
> “Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?”
> 
> Keine followed his Master through the star destroyer, named  _ Dantari _ , eyes lowered. He didn’t fight. He didn’t ignite his weapon. He was  _ afraid _ , and there were soldiers who used to be his  _ friends _ , each and every one of them named after a crystal, Keine knew them all by names, and now they —
> 
> Cal distanced from the memory. It was, perhaps, too much for him, because the situation was  _ almost  _ the same —
> 
> And then Keine looked up. 
> 
> No, the situation was  _ precisely  _ the same. 
> 
> Before Keine’s Master turned — sharply, everything about him was so sharp, it seemed — he noticed, there was a blaster bolt in his neck, held  _ still  _ by the Force, pulsing just below the hairline. It was just a matter of time —
> 
> “Cover me, Keine, they’ve sealed the door to the shuttle bay,  _ kriff _ , I don’t get it, _ what in the Force could have _ …” 
> 
> Master Tapal wasn’t that  _ panicked _ , Master Tapal  _ felt  _ the attack before it came. This Jedi  _ didn’t _ . But this Jedi had enough concentration to slow the blaster bolt and hold it; despite the pain, the movement, the panic. 
> 
> He —  _ Keine  _ — hesitantly flipped the switch of his lightsaber. It ignited, a blade of purple, same color as the stripes on the trooper’s armor. Keine felt scared of his own weapon, but he fought nonetheless, while his Master cut through the durasteel with his ‘saber behind him.
> 
> It was one hell of an escape, and yet, they’ve made it to the transport shuttle; they’ve used the same trick to keep clones occupied, too — the command codes still worked, and overloading the ship’s reactor wasn’t hard; without Commander Corusca there was chaos among the troops, too. 
> 
> No shots were fired when their transport launched. For a moment, it was okay; for a moment there was  _ hope _ . 
> 
> But there was a determined smile on zabrak’s face. Edged and unforgiving, his brows furrowed in a worst way of concentration — Cal could tell that it was  _ it _ . 
> 
> Keine could too. 
> 
> “I’m plotting a course for Dantooine. I think you will be able to make a living there. See, I’m still leaving the Order, after all. Just a bit sooner than I wanted.”
> 
> He laughed, then. And he seemed almost happy, for a fraction of a second. 
> 
> Through Keine’s eyes Cal could see his face twist with agony, as the blaster shot went through his neck, could see him go impossibly still and silent. 
> 
> But not  _ dead _ . 
> 
> “You are not going anywhere,” Keine muttered, and the Force around him swirled in an impossible hue of crimson, he flopped on the floor, took the lute —  _ all this time it was behind his back, on the strap, this Padawan really wasn’t in it for the fighting, was he? _ — and hugged it, as if it was a living thing.

At first, when the world blacked around him, Cal thought that it was it; the end of the vision; but he was mistaken. The Force simply allowed him a brief moment to recollect himself, to breath, to think it through; to understand that if he wanted, he could pull back now. He didn’t want to. He was going through it till the end. After all, the Force willed it. 

> Cal has never been to Dantooine himself, but for Keine, through whose eyes he saw the scenery, it seemed familiar; like  _ home _ . The high grass, the pale blue flowers and lonely trees — well, this planet seemed nice, it was warm, welcoming; if only… if not for his almost dead Master, whom he left in the shuttle. If not for the message — return to the Jedi Temple, because the Republic needs you — and Keine knew what happened the last time he insisted that they listened to that message; Geonosis happened. He barely survived that  _ mindless violence _ ; will he survive this time around? 
> 
> Did it matter?
> 
> He could still feel his master in the Force, but other than that there was nothing;  _ Anik  _ was as good as dead. Keine refused to let him go. He hoped that a blaster shot through the neck was fixable —  _ there was nothing bacta couldn’t fix _ , but they had to get more fuel to get anywhere — _ buy _ more fuel.  _ Selling  _ kyber didn’t sound appealing, but it was his only choice; the only thing he was good at. He felt like  _ hell  _ stripping his Master’s jewelry from him, but what other choice he had? It didn’t cost much, on Dantooine. The planet was littered with kyber crystals of all shapes, and what they had were just little shards, not even big enough to make a lightsaber — still, he would try to make it work. 
> 
> And he did. Didn’t even have to sell everything; a sob-story and a yellow kyber were enough —
> 
> And he plotted a course to Coruscant. 
> 
> They never made it there; crashed on some kind of planet, because of the cascade system failure —
> 
> And the message was changed by the time he cared to take a look; 
> 
> _ “This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both the Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder to all the surviving Jedi: trust in the Force… _ ”
> 
> But the Force stayed silent around Keine, as the world spiralled from bad to worse, and there was nothing to trust in. The memories became torn, shredded, all Cal could see were just flashes — nothing more. 
> 
> His Master’s eyes — lifeless, almost dead, but not quite. 
> 
> _ “Let me become one with the Force, I beg you,” _ through the bond, a whisper.
> 
> Keine, fighting off a purge trooper, who found him in the mountains, where he was hiding; tracked them, because the remains of the ship had a Jedi symbol painted on it. 
> 
> Keine, sitting on the edge of a kliff, rocking back and forth mindlessly, feeling numb and indecisive, the Force around him impossibly silent even when he called for it — and the kyber in his lightsaber no longer sang; it feared its owner just as its owner feared his weapon. 
> 
> Keine, selling his Master’s lute, finally, because it was the last thing he had on hand, because it was his only way to get food; to survive. The kyber crystal tied to its neck on a faded silk cord wept, but Keine paid it no mind, although he heard it. 

Cal opened his eyes, feeling dizzy with the vision. There were tear streaks on his cheeks, although the Padawan in the vision didn’t cry; not once. The tears were his own. Cal wiped them and took the lute; looked at it closer. Now that he’s been through the visions it held inside itself, he could touch it with no reservations. It was a well-treated instrument once, but no longer. He wondered, if the sound would be nice, once the silk cord was untied, but decided not to try doing it, not yet. 

“What did you see?” Master Kenobi asked him, genuinely curious, but his voice was even softer than usual; he didn’t want to sound too intrusive, Cal could feel it. 

He… didn’t know if what he saw was worth sharing, really. 

“The fall of the Republic, mostly. This lute… it belonged to a Jedi Master. His name was… I think, Anik? Wait. You said you’ve met a Jedi who wielded a yellow lightsaber and wanted nothing in his life but to sort through kyber crystals on Ilum? Well, I think… This lute was his.”

“And why do you think the Force showed you all this?” his Master asked. He didn’t care to confirm the identity of the Jedi in question. 

“I genuinely don’t know. Maybe it wanted to show me that… my experience wasn’t… you know. As bad as though it was...”

“You shouldn’t think of your own experiences as unworthy of whatever emotion they’ve put you through, even if someone had worse.”

“I don’t. It’s just… different. Makes me wonder about what destiny holds for us. What if it was the Force’s will for us, the Jedi, as a whole, all along?”

“You cannot imply that our Order’s demise was its will?” 

Cal saw his Master frown, he saw his shoulders become tense, he felt him suddenly grow distant through their bond.  _ Blasphemy _ ; that’s what Cal’s implications were; even if Obi-Wan Kenobi was angry with the Order, even if he  _ told  _ his Padawan that the Force  _ could be cruel _ , this — this was, apparently, too much. Enough for his eyes to become cold.

“If it wasn’t, Master, why didn’t the Force do anything to prevent it? Why didn’t anyone have a premonition, a prophetic dream? A vision?”

There was nothing to say; there was no explanation, so the silence lingered. For the first time, perhaps, heavy and uncomfortable. Cal was the first to speak once more. 

“I saw a Padawan, who was missing almost half of his body; the only thing I know is that it was his lightsaber which he thought was the cause. A Jedi Master, whose only wish was to leave the Order, once the war ended, because, apparently, he couldn’t stand the fighting — he didn’t see it through to the end. I can’t help but notice the trend; we preach peace, but we are taught to fight, since a very young age, at the Temple. Is that the will of the Force? To train warriors, who can wipe out armies of clones or droids? I like moving with my weapon, I like how the Force sings around me when we train, but I cannot —  _ whenever I remember killing troopers _ …” 

Cal fell silent. He felt sick just mentioning it; he saw faces of  _ his  _ troopers each time he killed others. He knew they weren’t the same, he tried not to pay attention, not to notice, but… 

“I don’t think that the Jedi are supposed to fight at all,” he whispered, feeling his eyes burning. “And maybe the Force really is cruel, for showing us exactly that in such a way. That the Order was —”

“Stop.”

Obi-Wan took the lute from his hands and put it away. Cal didn’t look at him, but he could feel just by the movement in the corners of his eyes that his Master had a different opinion. He didn’t mind it, no, but…

He didn’t expect to be silenced, either. 

“May I ask you to postpone this conversation, Cal? I don’t think that I’m up to it. I might say something to you that I will regret later, and I wouldn’t want that.”

It was honest, at the very least, and Cal appreciated it. He sighted, looking down.

“Can we meditate together instead? To clear our minds?”

He gave his Master a nod, but it was a half-hearted one; just as his meditation this time. In many ways it resembled what he had before facing his deepest sorrows and regrets on Dathomir; a shallow trance which couldn’t do much to heal one’s soul or soothe burning emotion. He knew that Master Kenobi noticed it; he didn’t comment on it though, simply caressed his hand when they were finished. 

He re-braided Cal’s hair afterwards. There was tenderness in his touches, the softness which Cal treasured; he smiled, closed his eyes. He could… perhaps, he could really push back his thoughts about the past; not dwell on them; leave the past behind, because, really, the Order was long gone, and now, there was peace. At least, in this very moment — and he was supposed to live in the moment — 

Yet, there was something dark, swirling at the corners of his mind again, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Perhaps, it was anger; if it ever had a color, it would be… 

The color of the bead, which Master Kenobi added to his padawan braid; cerulean blue. The color of Anakin Skywalker. 

Cal bit his upper lip, brows furrowed, but said nothing. 

In the end, he told himself, it didn’t matter what color his anger was, as long as it didn’t bleed to red. 

“Peace is a lie,” he heard a distorted, modulated voice behind his back and flinched. He turned around, sharply and violently enough to rip his braid from Obi-Wan’s hands, but there was no one there. 

Concern flashed through their bond, same as it was painted at his Master’s face, as he looked exactly where Cal was looking, and saw nothing, too. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. It’s nothing.I think I'm just a bit tired after the echoes.”

What he told was a lie; he was far from okay. He wasn’t okay with wearing someone else’s colors on his braid, but, oh, did he have a choice? He was comparing Master Kenobi to Master Tapal, it would have been hypocritical to — 

He stayed silent on the matter, as his Master finished braiding his hair. 

He never mentioned it throughout the week which came to pass. Each day started with ‘saber practice before dawn now, as they tried to evade the suns — the heat was getting worse each day, Cal noticed — and their life slowly shifted to night-time, mostly. 

The cool air was dry; there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and there was no wind; none at all. It wasn’t a good sign, but — it wasn’t exactly unpleasant either, so Cal thought. He didn’t mind dry food; he reasoned that he had worse; he didn’t mind not seeing the light of day that much, because it really was too harsh now. 

The stars still called to him with a promise of battles, and fighting, and death, but he ignored them. He didn’t find courage in himself to talk about just how  _ corrupt  _ he saw the Order when he looked back at it. He knew that Obi-Wan didn’t and he didn’t want to argue on the matter. It was one’s focus which determined their reality, so, he didn’t want to ruin it for someone whom he  _ lo- _

Whom he held dear. 

Nighttime colored Tatooine in purples. It was nice, to just sit outside and watch the moons slowly move across the sky, and it was exactly what Cal was doing when he felt the Force scream for  _ help  _ in a vivid green —

It has been exactly two weeks since they’ve said their goodbyes to the youngling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noes, Luke! What happened?!


	15. Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dry season gets worse, and we aren't even in it yet. (But nobody knows it)  
> As always, thanks so much for your comments, they are SO inspirational to me!! I live to read them!! <3

Obi-Wan understood that their opinions were doomed to be different, from the very first moment he saw Cal Kestis on his doorstep. It was inevitable; he knew that. They were raised differently, the Order was not the same, it changed, and not for the better, with the war, inevitably shifting its perspective from the peaceful studies of the Force towards more practical combat skills. Less meditation, more lightsaber practice. Less younglings were sent to Agri-corps; almost none at all. Everybody got assigned to a Master who cared enough to take an apprentice. 

It wasn’t the same, being a Padawan during the Clone wars. It wasn’t the same, growing up during a war. It just wasn’t the same, having your troops turn on you. Age mattered, when trying to cope with something of that scale. 

He was thirty-eight when it happened; his soul already scarred over with many other tragedies. Death of his Master; death of Satine. The war had been raging on for three years; he couldn’t say it was  _ just another day of his life _ , but he wasn’t deeply traumatised; not by his trooper’s betrayal. Worried sick — for Anakin, because he knew that his Anakin has always been close with his men, that he had probably been near them, in battle or otherwise, and — he didn’t even know the scale of things back then, because it didn’t happen all at once. He…

It spiralled; one death after another, the presences in the Force going out like candelights, from bad to worse, as the world faded, and he searched for just one — 

The cerulean blue, he still felt it, he knew that Anakin —

When he reached out, Anakin didn’t reach back; and it was alright. 

Until Obi-Wan returned to the Temple. Saw, what happened, the horror, which awaited him there, the security recordings, he… couldn’t believe, at first. Didn’t want to believe, until the very end, and… 

_ Anakin. Anakin. Anakin.  _

His thoughts were full of the name, the memory; no wonder that sometimes he couldn’t relate to Cal enough to understand  _ him.  _

Guilt curled inside his chest as he asked his Padawan to postpone the conversation they were having; he couldn’t stand the implications that the Force was responsible for the crimes committed by the Sith; no. It wasn’t the Force’s will, not at all. He felt it with every inch of his being. 

He just hoped that Cal would understand his reluctance to speak on the topic, hoped that he would forgive him this weakness; this lack of character. 

Cal did, the precious young man that he was; pure soul, full of light. He didn’t push the issue any further, even though it bothered him still — to the point that he couldn’t find his center during meditation that evening. Obi-Wan would have helped him, guided him, as he did already so many times, but his Padawan didn’t ask. 

So he offered him what little comfort that he could, brushing lightly against his mind, touching his hand softly; he didn’t want to put any distance between them, he knew too well of that mistake already, learned from his own experience. 

He won’t fail this time, he promised himself, no matter what it took. 

The Force sang in his ears when he braided his Padawan’s hair.

“ _ Right _ ,” it chanted, “This is  _ right!” _

He knew that he was, perhaps, overstepping a boundary, when he chose that color for the second bead on Cal’s braid, but —

He couldn’t help but see the similarity. Now that he knew that there was a bond between Cal and Anakin, he just —

The Force didn’t seem to mind —

But he could feel that his Padawan did; sensed his reluctancy, but… he couldn’t bring himself to stop. How could he put away the bead, forget the color, just get over it?

He should have meditated it away a long time ago, it was true, but instead… he ended up tangled in his own memories, saw the similarities which, he reminded himself, just were not there. Cal wasn’t Anakin; Cal was  _ nothing  _ like Anakin, and it was wrong to compare them, no matter how much he wanted to —

When Cal flinched, he worried; when he stared into the empty space, Obi-Wan could feel the need to hug him, hold him close and reassure him. He didn’t know what it was, Cal didn’t share; he told that he was fine, although it was so easy to see through this lie. Still— 

The only logical thing to do was to give him space, and so he did. 

One day, they will talk this through. One day, he will be able to get over — he will be able to focus only on Cal. 

The dry season was truly unrelenting this year; it started early, it started fast, the suns burning ever brighter and the heat got unbearable too quick. It was easy for them to shift their life to nighttime, to avoid the suns, but — 

It did nothing to the fact that there was no water in the air; almost none. Obi-Wan thought about the Larses; they were, after all, moisture farmers and water was their primary source of income. If the dry season was so harsh, what would happen to them?

Surely it wasn’t the first one for them, they were experienced, well-versed in Tatooine’s way of life, much better than Obi-Wan was, if fact, but understanding it logically did nothing to soothe his emotional unease. 

He tried to shift his focus. Trained Cal the best he could; they didn’t talk about the Order, but they would, eventually. Obi-Wan was grateful that his Padawan gave him time. 

The days smeared into one, a beautiful circle of moons above their heads and sand, painted in blues beneath their feet, as their lightsabers clashed with an almost soothing hum. Cal was getting better each day, learning fast and eagerly, smiling through the sparring. He danced with his blades, so  _ handsome _ , sure of himself. 

“You truly are a wonder,” Obi-Wan told him once, looking at the sunrise. He wanted to say something more than that, because he wasn’t the one for empty praises, didn’t want them to inspire vanity in his Padawan, but…

For some reason he was sure that Cal won’t be vain; _ not ever _ . 

He spent a lot of time meditating, too; tried to rid his mind of haunting memories, and yet… it didn’t do much to help. He wished for Qui-Gon to be here and to guide him, but alas; his Master must have thought it best to leave them be. Well, there wasn’t much he could do, really. Take a deep breath, try to find his peace, try to understand the nature of his fixation on the cerulean blues; try to —

He knew that it was his love for Anakin. An attachment so deep that it couldn’t really be severed, even after all those years, even after all those horrible things Anakin has done, it still bled, stained everything Obi-Wan touched, and that, perhaps was the reason why the Code forbade it — it was —

The Force screamed for help around him, a flash of vivid green, blinding, it ripped him from the trance and he was on his feet before he realised. 

Cal looked at him, mirrored his own worried expression.

“The youngling,” his Padawan said, somehow unsure and full of resolve at the same time.

“You have to stay. I will go alone,” he couldn’t risk Cal, he couldn’t put him in danger too —

“No.”

They went together; hopped on the speeder and drove as fast as it could go, through the dunes, towards Larses’ homestead.  _ What could have happened? _

“It will be fine, Master. It was a premonition in the Force, not a real call for help, not yet. We will make it.”

Strange, how it was his Padawan, who reassured him, and not the other way around. Strange, how Cal maintained his cool. 

They were forced to leave the speeder almost a mile away from their final destination; wanted to have an element of surprise to their appearance, as the roar of engines carried across the desert almost too loudly. They made the rest of the way on foot; ran, with the help of the Force, as fast as they could, because both of them knew, they didn’t have much time before something bad happened; and they were… right.

There was a landspeeder approaching the small home, Obi-Wan noticed, as they hid behind a sandy dune.

“Who are those?” Cal whispered, barely audible, leaning forward, trying to make out the shapes. 

There were five people; all of them armed. 

“Probably Jabba’s henchmen,” Obi-Wan replied. “Probably want to rip Owen and Beru off; collect the “ _ water tax” _ . They don’t usually come that late at night though.”

“Maybe it’s because the heat began so suddenly?”

“No idea. I just hope Owen can talk them down. I don’t want to interfere... He asked me not to.”

Cal huffed, shifted a bit on the sand, but otherwise stayed silent. 

Nothing was happening for the longest moments, but then there was banging on the door, there were voices, and Obi-Wan could see that Owen was frightened and angry. He tried to reason with those thugs, but it just didn’t seem to work, whatever they wanted.

There was no way they would just leave.

A second. Then one more.

Those men shoved Owen to the side and pushed past him, inside his home. Then, came a second wave of arguing.

“We have to do something,” Cal whispered, his voice filled with something like static electricity, his body tense, like a tightly-wound spring. 

A child started crying, and  _ then _ Obi-Wan jumped to his feet, with Cal right behind him.

The Force swirled around them, as they ran —

One of the thugs was standing guard by the door; he turned towards them, blaster drawn. 

“Who the kark are you?”

He fired a shot at Cal, And Obi-Wan yanked his Padawan to the side, but — but Cal was already dodging it; he flashed a smile at him, warm and gentle, full of  _ — oh, it was — _

Another shot was fired and it missed, too, as the front door of the Larses’ home was tightly shut.  _ There was no chaos, there was the Force _ , and it didn’t matter that it was dark, because the Force illuminated everything they needed to see. They were in sync, perfectly so —

It wasn’t hard to knock the blaster out of this thug’s hands, Obi-Wan noticed; he probably wasn’t very well-versed in that type of thing… and then, there was Cal, who looked the poor guy straight in the eye. 

“You want to go to Mos Espa and drink ‘till you drop, because you saw nothing of interest here.”

_ “I want to go to Mos Espa and drink ‘till I drop, because I saw nothing of interest here, _ ” the man smiled stupidly, turned on his heels and strolled away through the dunes. 

“Why did you send him drinking?” Obi-Wan asked with a nervous smile. “He won’t rethink his life that way.”

“I don’t think sending him to rethink his life would have changed anything, in the grand scale of things,” Cal retorted gingerly, as he knocked on the door with an innocent smile. 

It wasn’t Owen or Beru who opened the door for them,  _ surely _ , it was one of Jabba's men. 

“What do you want?”

“You don’t want to know who we are or what we want, you want to go home and rethink your life,” Cal suggested, words laced with the Force, and then he turned to Obi-Wan and  _ winked _ . That… that was, perhaps, too much. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but breath out a laugh. 

They still had to fight, but it was brief, because of how synchronized their movements were and how easy it was to mind-trick those bandits. They were all sent to their homes or nearest bars with instructions to either drink themselves into oblivion or think about their life choices. There was almost no violence involved, and yet… surely it didn’t stop Owen from being furious. 

Accusations spilled from his lips, and it didn’t matter that minutes ago there was a blaster aimed at his head, it didn’t matter at all that there was no way he could have dealt with Jabba’s men on his own. 

Obi-Wan just stood there, silent, unsure of what to do, because there was nothing he  _ could _ do in a situation such as this — he gave up long ago, he knew he couldn’t reason with Anakin’s brother, he knew that Owen would never listen, that every word would only bring more hateful words his way. 

He didn’t listen to what he was saying, distanced himself from it, knowing, that in the end the anger will pass, that in the end they will be forced to work together, whether Owen liked it or not, because Obi-Wan wasn’t the one to simply go away. 

But he didn’t expect Owen to hit him.

He didn’t expect Cal to pounce on Owen in his defence. 

He didn’t expect Luke to come running out of nowhere to try and break the fight, and less of all…

“Luke Skywalker, what do you think you are doing?!”

Less of all he expected Beru to shout the youngling’s full name. 

He saw Cal freeze at the spot, saw his face go from enraged to totally blank, as he let go of Owen, who huffed and went on with his rant about how troublesome the Jedi were, and how Obi-Wan should watch his  _ brat of an apprentice _ —

Obi-Wan didn’t care about what Owen had to say, because Cal was still sitting on the floor, staring into nowhere, eyes fogged over, as if he wasn’t even here anymore. 

“Cal?”

He kneeled near him, touched his shoulder gently, trying to get his Padawan’s attention. 

“Cal, are you okay?”

No reply came, but Cal finally blinked, sighted, turned to him. His face was still devoid of emotion, blank. 

Owen said something, but Obi-Wan paid him no mind. He didn’t even pay Luke any mind, Luke, who was so near, who managed to calm down in a matter of seconds, once the violence was over.

“I will explain everything once we get home.”

“Is there anything that needs explaining, Master?” Cal finally spoke, voice quiet, almost calm, but he didn’t  _ appear calm _ , through their bond. He seemed to be hurt, more than anything. 

“I think that there is. Come, we have to go.”

He took Cal’s hand, and didn’t even spare Larses a second glance on his way out. He knew that Luke stared at them, wide-eyed and curious, but this time he knew that he had to ignore the youngling, although he really,  _ truly  _ wanted to spend at least some time in his company. 

They walked through the dunes in silence, and Obi-Wan refused to let go of his Padawan’s hand. In some way he was afraid to — thought that were he to do it, Cal would run, as far away as he could, and he would never see him again. He felt as if he betrayed someone very dear to him, by not telling the truth right away; not trusting enough to tell, and Cal’s reaction proved —

“I should have told you who he was,” he said finally. “The first time you met him. Should have been honest.”

“You don’t trust me. It’s fine, Master, I understand. I know that you’ve only had me as an apprentice for a short time and you have no faith in me. I know that I have to earn your trust, that I’m not good enough yet. I will… try to forget what I heard today. I’m sorry for acting weird.”

Cal didn’t look at him, kept his eyes down, as if sand beneath his feet was truly a marvelous sight. 

“Please don’t say that. You don’t have to apologise, and what in the world gave you the idea that you are not good enough?”

“I know that I will never be able to even  _ start  _ to compare myself to  _ Anakin _ _!_ Because he was… so much stronger than I am!  _ The son of the Force! _ And I… Master, I know that I will  _ never  _ live up to the expectations he had set up, it’s _ just not possible _ .”

Ah. So, that’s what it was, all this time. What bothered his Padawan so much. Obi-Wan stopped and turned to Cal, put his hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look up, to meet his eyes. 

“Cal, that’s simply not true. I don’t expect you to compete with anyone; believe me, raw power isn’t everything. I know it, because I, for one, don’t have it. Never had it. Least of all I want you to be like Anakin. I want you to be  _ you _ .”

Cal stayed silent for a second and then leaned forward. His eyes sparkled with emotion which Obi-Wan knew too well; recognized, because it was exactly the same one he saw for so many years in Anakin’s — for a moment he thought that Cal was about to kiss him, and he didn’t know how he felt about it. 

How would he have reacted to that? Would he, perhaps, stop him? Or return the kiss?

But Cal did no such thing. 

Instead, he hugged him, all softness and tenderness in just one gesture, and it was —

Nothing could have been more different from what he shared with Anakin than this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beru, WHY?


	16. Cal Kestis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh guys, I'm so sorry for missing for two whole weeks... the quarantine isn't going well procrastination-wise.  
> Anyways! Here's a new chapter, and I thank you for being patient with me <3  
> Love you all as always and thank you so much for your comments and support!

Skywalker. Luke Skywalker was the youngling’s name. It was hard to believe, and yet, Cal had no doubt now; it was the last piece of the puzzle for him, it explained everything, as to why his Master treated Larses the way he did. All because they cared about the last thing that was left of the one whom he loved the most in the whole galaxy.

If he was ever jealous or angry — he was no more. Couldn’t bring himself to be, even though he was still hurt. 

He knew that he shouldn’t have been hurt either, but he was, for the reasons he couldn’t understand, but he thought that it was, perhaps, the least of his worries; he knew that he was dangerous now, with his connection to Anakin, from whom Luke was hidden on this Force-forsaken planet, and if he let anything slip — 

Oh, the thought of that was simply terrifying. 

He couldn’t let his Master down, ever. 

Deep inside, he panicked, but he didn’t let it show. 

Days flew by, and their life, again, seemed to return to normal. They trained, meditated under the stars and talked about everything and nothing, and Cal thought that it was, perhaps, everything he ever wanted. The semblance of peace. 

It didn’t matter that the days got drier and hotter with each passing week, as long as Obi-Wan was by his side, it was fine. 

They talked about the Order, at last. Agreed, that having different opinions was fine. That they didn’t need to share every view, especially on things which were left in the past. Still, Cal felt that his Master was somehow reluctant to accept his point. He told himself that it was _alright_ , because it didn’t seem to affect the kindness with which he treated him.

Cal could still hear the whispers in a distorted voice now and then, saying things he didn’t want to hear, the lies, _he knew those were just lies_ , whispers of hate. And if at first he flinched, as time passed, he learned to ignore them, as if they were the same background noise as the wind and hum of the dunes. 

He knew that the whispers belonged to Anakin, just like he knew that the one who once was the Chosen One, taunted him, with a purpose, which Cal didn’t yet know. He didn’t want to find out, because Anakin’s name really only meant one thing for him — his own endless suffering and _infinite sadness_ of his Master, something that he had no cure for, no matter how hard he trained and which heights he achieved. Even when Obi-Wan praised him, his eyes remained tinted with that touch of melancholy, and that made Cal’s heart sink in his chest, time and time again. He wished he could do something about it, wished he could shine brighter but there was no helping it.

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s love for his former apprentice was undying. 

Cal just wished it didn’t hurt as much as it did. _He wished Anakin didn’t fall. He wished for so many things_ , and he knew that those wishes were only half his own now. The bond he shared with Obi-Wan affected him more and more with each passing day, and sometimes during their meditations he could no longer tell which thoughts were his Master’s and which were his own. 

It was fine, he realized. 

He loved it. Every part of it. 

It was like sharing a soul. 

When dealing with close connections with the Force he tried his best to tell which emotions were his and which were not, but now, walking across the endless desert beneath the stars, that thought crossed his mind no more. He didn’t care about losing himself to the person he loved the most; if his affections and love meant becoming a part of another, he was willing to cross that line and lose a part of himself for the sake of it. 

His heart was filled with pure love for Luke — he knew that he had to do all in his power now to protect the young shooting star, colored in a hue of viridian green, he believed that Luke was the part of the prophecy too, in a way. _He will grow up one day, he will bring balance, he will do so many things, he will be so much more than any of them will ever be able to become._

Cal didn’t aspire to greatness, but knowing that he wouldn’t ever achieve such heights, that the prophecies weren’t written about him was a little bit discouraging. He understood that he was just a background character for someone else’s story; well… if the Force willed it... he reassured himself that it was fine. 

He knew that deep down his Master felt the same way. That they both were merely tools for the Force to wield — to make its prophecies spark to life. 

“I’ve heard those all my life. How can you still believe them I have no clue,” a modulated voice creaked behind his back and Cal ignored it, same as he did for the past few weeks. Anakin was at the back of his mind, always. He got used to his presence, learned to filter through his anger, to accept his hatred for the world around him. He knew that the hatred wasn’t exactly true; he felt that deep inside Skywalker didn’t mean it. That it was but a shield; something to cover up the pain which bubbled underneath the mask he was now wearing. 

Was it easier to hate, than to feel hurt?

Cal had no answer, but he knew that pain could overwhelm, and that the Force amplified it. He knew that Anakin had plenty of both, so… he didn’t blame him. The galaxy still suffered because of his actions, but in the end, the Chosen One was simply a tool just as well. _The tool of the Force, or the tool in the Emperor’s hands?_ Cal didn’t know. Didn’t really _want_ to know.

The real decisions weren’t Anakin’s. The whispers he heard weren’t heartfelt, they sounded like something well-rehearsed, something that one didn’t really believe in. Something that he repeated not only to taunt Cal, but also to remind _himself_ of the realities of life he _thought_ he was now living.

Anakin was trying to convince _himself_ that the peace was never an option. That it has _always_ been a lie. That the Jedi Order as a whole was _evil_ , that his Master didn’t _care_ for him _ever_ . That there was no _love_ for him in the whole universe. 

None of it was true. 

Cal sighted, looking at the mountains in the distance, wondering, whether they would make it there ‘till dawn. He really didn’t want to get sunburned, and the suns tended to do that to him now, with the dry season raging on.

“We should have taken the speeder,” he told his Master quietly. 

“No, because we don’t want to spook the poor creature. If it’s still there.”

The “poor creature” was the krayt dragon. Cal still had reservations about what they were going to do, but with their minds so intermixed he found himself at the point of not caring. Again. He was finding himself at this point far too often these days.

They have run out of water; they needed to get more; buy more. And due to high demand it was expectedly expensive.

Cal has never questioned where the credits came from, but apparently his Master had at least some savings. He was probably selling most of the water before Cal came ‘round, but now, the expenses grew, the water consumption went up, and well — Cal didn’t exactly _bring_ any credits with him. 

He felt guilty for being just another mouth to feed; in a place as cruel as Tatooine he wished he could help, so he offered. 

And that brought them on a quest for krayt dragon pearls. They knew that there was a nest nearby — well, Obi-Wan knew; Cal didn’t — and if they searched through it, they might have found something of value there. None of them was eager to slay the creature though, so they tried their best to be quiet and avoid confrontation. Still, Cal wasn’t sure if the whole enterprise would ever truly work out — but his Master was full of optimism somehow. Perhaps it was the Force that guided him, or maybe it was just a hunch, something a treasure hunter has just before —

One of the suns peeked from behind the mountains, and he colors flared, as if all at once: the gold was spilled across the sands, and the sky was dark no longer, indigo blues replaced by pinks and light purples on the sunrise. 

Cal stopped and stared at the sky, and he knew that behind him his Master was standing perfectly still too. They watched the sunrise together, until the moment the sky turned the beautiful shade of cerulean blue and then Cal felt it —

The longing, with which his Master looked at the sky, the sadness, which tainted his vision, the light which still shined through the pain. And Cal knew that if the sky was the ocean, his Master would have dived in it. If the sky was just another part of Tatooine, his Master would have walked right through it. 

_If he had enough paint, he would have painted the whole desert in that color just to remind himself of the one he lost. Cal wished he could stop him from making those connections —_

Cal knew that he was seeing the same now, in the color of the sky; he knew that he loved Anakin Skywalker unreservedly too; just because he was part of his Master’s soul. The feeling wasn’t his, but he welcomed it, shared it, because he thought that if he did, it would be easier. He saw now what he didn’t see when he first arrived. Behind the serene facade Obi-Wan was slowly falling too. Not in a conventional way, of which everyone talked, he wasn’t falling towards the hatred and passion, no.

It was love, mixed with guilt, mixed with sadness and extreme lack of purpose which was slowly driving him insane. 

He wasn’t falling towards the dark. He was… just falling. 

Cal couldn’t stand this thought. 

In silence, they searched through the dark cave; it was completely void of life. The dragon, who lived there, was out for a hunt and was yet to return, luckily. Several old bantha bones were laid scattered around, and Cal reached out with the Force, trying to feel whether or not there was anything else. 

The pearls were kyber crystals, after all. If he tried hard enough, he could hear them sing — every crystal sang a song. He didn’t know where this piece of knowledge came from, but he supposed he got it from the Force-echoes in the lute. _Keine_ knew this, because _his Master_ specialized in kyber crystals. Ah, perhaps, he shouldn’t be relying on someone else’s experience, but now it seemed helpful, so, perhaps… 

The song was quiet, more of a hum, than an actual melody, and Cal realized that the hum of the sands on Tatooine was also not _just the sound of shifting dunes_ , but a song — a kybersong, because the sand itself contained traces of those pearls, smashed by storms and constant movement, polished until they became just grains of sand. 

He reached out under a rock and fished out a crystal — perfectly round, beautifully transparent, void of any color, and handed it to Obi-Wan. 

“Here,” he said, with a weak smile. 

Obi-Wan looked at him, surprised. Through the bond, Cal could feel that he didn’t expect him to be the one to find the crystal, but well… He was almost proud to be the reason for that expression on his Master’s face. 

For once, he did more, than was expected of him. 

For once, he made his master proud.

“We must go,” Obi-Wan told him, gently ruffling his hair. “Before the dragon returns.”

Cal nodded. 

He still got sunburned on their way back, but he failed to care, when they finally got home. His thoughts were centered around the crystals, shuffling around in the sands and his Master’s sadness.

What did he know about the crystals? Not much. Apart from the fact that they took the color of the Force and were used to center the light, he didn’t know much, but at the back of his mind there was a voice, an echo — the crystals always sing, and the songs might serve different purposes. 

They might drive those who aren’t sensitive to the Force mad; make them prone to aggression and violence — it explained a lot about Tatooine, too. They might conceal somebody’s Force signature, thus, making the planet a perfect place for hiding someone like Luke. He wondered, if Obi-Wan knew all this stuff all along, or if Tatooine was chosen for another reason altogether. 

What if it was just a coincidence?

What if the shards of discolored kyber in the sands were just another part of Skywalker’s heritage, a part of the Chosen One’s story? The reason why the Order didn’t find him in time. It wasn’t like the seekers have never come to Tatooine, it wasn’t that the Force was silent here; it was…

The constant worried hum of the dunes was too loud to hear its whispers. 

The tragedy started right here, and spiralled further down. 

Cal thought that there was hardly any other way to describe just how the story unfolded in the end, for all of them.

Tomorrow, they will go to Mos Espa again; sell the crystal, buy some water. Live through another couple of weeks, but well — he knew that that solution was only temporary. He will have to find a way to fund his stay, so he was going to ask around for a job. He thought about something connected with making repairs — didn’t think there will be a huge demand for scrappers on a planet such as this, but perhaps he could…

As it turned out, there _was_ a certain demand for scrappers on Tatooine; just not right now. After the pod races, and if he wanted, he could enlist, book a spot, so to say, and so he did. His Master didn’t seem to mind a lot — it seemed, he wasn’t really bothered because this scrapper business really did attract a lot of newcomers just for the race. Nobody seemed to pay Cal any mind. Nobody questioned who he was and why he needed the credits. Well… _everybody_ needed credits, especially now.

And so, the dry season went on. 

He trained with Obi-Wan. He meditated. He helped after the races, doing what he did best — unassembling things to bits and pieces, separating junk from useful stuff. 

He learned to play the lute; learned to tune it, fished a few songs out of the echoes and then — it was really that easy, the melody just flowed from beneath his fingers. A serenade, love song of times long gone, with words forgotten and faded, yet the melody remained. Cal found that his kyber crystals sang him the same melody.

_“One of the Jedi Masters back at Coruscant once compared people to kyber crystals; told that though they all have the same potential to become perfect for anyone’s lightsaber, only some of them call to you in song.”_

He didn’t need to look at his Master to know that he played for him; that the minor chords were meant to represent Obi-Wan’s sadness and heartbreak, his undying love, which called for — still — not for him, but for a person long gone. It was a serenade for Anakin Skywalker, and it was colored in the color of the sky itself. The cerulean blue made the dark shadow behind his back shiver in hatred and anger —

It made his Master _flinch_ in his meditation, made him tilt his head to the side and _listen_. 

Cal willed himself not to cry, because the water was precious. He knew that he couldn’t do anything to help himself with the fact that the song which _called to him_ wasn’t even meant _for_ him.

He told himself that it was alright. That he was a Jedi, and the Jedi were meant to be selfless. 

He told himself that his Master loved him; it was true, and he told himself that the feeling was returned. It was just a different type of love. 

He told himself that he wouldn’t be able to return _this_ kind of feeling to his Master anyway, but _oh_ — 

The Force indeed seemed to be cruel, for bringing them together, and yet… he knew what he wanted to do more than anything in his life now, when he realized, what was happening here, amidst the feigned serenity of the desert wastes. 

More than anything, he wanted to catch his Master’s fall. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh Cal my heart bleeds for you, poor cinnamon roll...


	17. Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've been missing again. But it's the last chapter before the epilogue. I really didn't want to let go of my cinnamon rolls and tried to put it off for a million years.

It wasn’t hard to notice the flowing change which overtook Cal’s whole being; wasn’t hard, because the Force tended to change color around him, his own cyan fading, replaced by other hues. And if at first Obi-Wan thought that it was Anakin’s cerulean again — 

No, it wasn’t. He could recognize Anakin’s color anytime, and it just wasn’t  _ right  _ — 

It took him time to realize it was his own Force which tainted his padawan’s cyan into a bright blue. He didn’t know what prompted it, whether it was their deep connection, or something else, and yet he felt how Cal tried to take his worries and sadness away — shared them. 

It felt wrong, in a terrible sort of way, because Obi-Wan knew that no Master should rely on their apprentices in such a way; no Master should ever burden their charges with their pain and sufferings, no Masters should ever — oh, he was failing to follow the very first line of the code, because there  _ was  _ emotion in his soul, he realized. Dictated by his destiny, written in the lines of his palms, bleeding through his Force into the world around him. The sadness and heartbreak — he wished he could help it — no, he actually didn’t. 

He was  _ fine  _ with it. 

But his Padawan was not; he saw Cal silently suffering, saw the longing for the change in his eyes until one day he finally voiced it. 

“Master,” his voice was gentle as he spoke, eyes fixed at the distant stars as they walked across the sands once more — it has become their habit, to visit the Larses’ homestead every other night, just to keep watch and meditate. 

“Yes?” 

“I want us to leave this awful place.”

Cal’s voice was almost a whisper, a desperate plea, something which he had long been hiding deep inside his very soul.

“I want you to see the peach hues of Bogano sunrises. I want to walk through the flower fields on Zeffo — it’s cold there, but even though it snows, the flowers bloom, and the wind smells like honey. I know the Empire is there, but — ” he cut himself off, without even finishing the sentence, looked down, shied away. 

That was how Cal has always been — shy, when it came to voicing something he held dear, something which was important to him on a deep personal level; he wasn’t a coward when it came to fighting. There was no doubt in that, after his quest for a holocron, none at all, but this — oh, it was a different matter altogether. 

Obi-Wan took his time before answering; he didn’t want to sound harsh, but to that there was only one answer. Cal knew it. Should have known it by now, should have realized, that he couldn’t afford to just — 

“I cannot leave Tatooine,” he said in a soft voice. “And you know, why. You, however, can. And you should.”

And it was it. Cal never spoke of it again, although Obi-Wan could see in his eyes the longing with which he looked towards the stars, the tenderness with which he played the saddest serenade which lacked the words — he thought that they remained unspoken for a reason. 

There were no major changes on their course of life. They trained. They meditated. Cal worked after the pod races, scrapped the wrecks, putting the knowledge he got on Bracca to a good use. They watched over the small home where Luke lived; built the tiny models of spaceships out of scraps, just to leave them on Shmi Skywalker’s grave for Beru to find. Luke loved the  _ toys _ . He wanted to be a pilot one day.

One day…

One day, when Luke leaves Tatooine, Obi-Wan would be able to do so too, but for Cal, it would be too little too late. 

For now… well. 

There was nothing he could do about what the destiny had in store for the both of them; the Force willed him to stay. Qui-Gon came one night to talk to him; to remind him of his purpose, only to see that he hasn’t forgotten it — hasn’t swayed from his path and that his allegiance had not faltered.

His warm feelings towards Cal didn’t affect his judgment; he knew well what he could or could not do now. He knew well not to repeat the same mistakes all over again — 

He remembered chasing Anakin across the galaxy, following his padawan to the far reaches of the universe, walking as close to breaking all existing rules as humanly possible, just to — just to be by his side when he called; when he needed him. He remembered the first year of the Clone wars; how draining it was, how his heart ached each time Anakin rushed away towards the frontlines, or worse — took a ship, claiming that this was the only possible way, because he was the  _ best pilot in the galaxy,  _ and therefore their only hope for success. So arrogant, always, so,  _ so arrogant _ , and yet, Obi-Wan’s love for him bloomed vividly;  _ so vividly it hurt _ . 

— loving Cal didn’t hurt. 

It was a different kind of love, too. 

It was a feeling he wasn’t ashamed of; it was something he could have admitted in front of the whole Council without feeling the sting of breaking the Code or walking too close to the line. Once again, Cal proved that he was nothing like Anakin. Nothing at all. 

And yet,  _ just like Anakin,  _ he would eventually leave Obi-Wan alone.

Still, there was no use feeling sad about this: it was a destiny of a Jedi Master: letting go. He knew that Cal would never turn towards the dark, and it was all he could ever ask for. The only reward for the training he had provided, for the love he poured into him. 

It was several months later, when Cal gathered all the credits he had managed to save up and informed him of his decision of entering a pod race himself. 

“Are you going to build a pod?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised at such a turn of events. The risk-taking wasn’t necessarily Cal’s character defining trait. 

If Anakin suggested it, he would have been much less intrigued by the motivation. But Cal?

“The pod doesn’t really matter; not much, anyway. So I’ll borrow one from the guild. Pay the entering fee. The  _ tax.  _ I know the track, I’ve seen the races many times. So I guess… I’ll win.”

He sounded confident, but Obi-Wan found it hard to believe it. Cal has never shown affinity for flying; has never been the one for speed and rush of adrenaline. Why now? Or was it, perhaps, the  _ win _ part that mattered the most?

“You sound so sure, why?” 

He didn’t question his ability, just the motivation. The Force could guide any Jedi through a pod race, the question was why would a Jedi ever participate? He knew that a long time ago Anakin did this; a long time ago, back when he was still a slave on this sandy hell of a planet. 

_ Qui-Gon won the Chosen One’s freedom in an unfair game of chance. _

The light glinted in Cal’s eyes in a very strange way; perhaps, it was the reflection of the vermillion hues of the rocks in the canyon, or maybe — just maybe, it was the sunrise, but just for a fraction of a moment his eyes flashed in a hue of reddish gold. 

_ “I’m the best star pilot in the galaxy, what could possibly go wrong?”  _

There was such arrogance in his voice, it was so familiar, that it made Obi-Wan  _ flinch. _ But the moment has passed, and Cal’s eyes were normal yet again, and he shrugged and said something among the lines of  _ just kidding.  _

Perhaps, it was just his imagination. 

A hallucination he half-wished — half-feared — to be true. 

He told Cal to be careful on the race, should he decide to take part in it for real; not just with the secrecy about the Force, but also with his life. There was a reason why no humans participated in those — there was simply no way — 

‘Don’t worry about it, Master,” Cal told him, touching his arm in a gentlest of ways. “We’ll be fine.”

He didn’t exactly say whom he meant by “ _ we”, — and there was room for guessing, now, with this strange joke and golden eyes, and the Force colored in the very particular shade of cerulean blue —  _ but for Obi-Wan it really didn’t matter. 

The race went well, if such a thing can be said about  _ that  _ particular sort of thing, where each and every time people died. But it went well for his Padawan — cyan or cerulean blue, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t an effortless win, but Cal crossed the finish line first and got the credits he wanted to get. He didn’t seem happy about it, though, and for the next few days brooded, hesitating about something Obi-Wan couldn’t name or guess. He spent his nights looking at the sky, the distant stars, with the expression full of longing and hope. 

“I think we should split those,” he said finally, “Give one half to the Larses, so they could buy more stuff for Luke.”

“I don’t think they would accept,” Obi-Wan told him calmly. “What did you want to do with such an amount of credits anyway?”

Cal gave him no reply; just the look — the same one with which he asked him to leave this planet. There was that shine in his eyes, the type of sadness Obi-Wan recognized all too well. He… knew it all too well; the sadness over something one cannot change. He disliked the fact that he came to be the reason for it, but — oh, some things couldn’t be undone, could they? The Force worked in mysterious ways and there was no going around it. 

He knew that Cal couldn’t stay here forever. Not on Tatooine. It would have been a waste of the boy’s life, his potential. He would just… burn away here, under the two cruel suns, like he never existed. 

“You  _ know  _ that I can’t leave.” he told Cal, feeling how his voice was starting to shake. He didn’t want to hurt his dear one, but — 

But he couldn’t leave Luke; it was his duty to stay, in case something happened and he  _ needed _ to be here to protect him.

“But you…” he didn’t finish — his Padawan spoke before he could do it. 

“I know,” Cal told him with a sad smile. “Please don’t continue. I know what you want to say. Please don’t send me away. Not just yet.”

_ Not just yet. _

Cal was so… Obi-Wan couldn’t even find proper words to describe just how much the young man made his heart overflow with feelings. He couldn’t help it; pulled his Padawan into a soft hug and promised him not to. Promised him that he could stay as long as he wanted — leave as soon as he wanted. 

That even if he leaves — he could come back any time. That even if he leaves, he would still be his Padawan; even if they are lightyears apart. 

“And when you are ready to be on your own, I will be glad to let go,” he said softly, brushing his fingers against Cal’s cheek. 

Cal’s breath was uneven, as he tried to stifle his sobs, but no tears fell. They both knew that being  _ together _ was something the Jedi couldn’t have, in the end, because the duty always came first. One had to choose. It was either this — or the Force’s will.

Or there was a certain price to pay, and..

And the Force could be cruel when it came to collecting the debts. 

It was easier to live in the moment, like Qui-Gon taught him. Not to think about the things to come, not to reflect on things bygone. Perhaps,  _ that _ was the Jedi wisdom, the only way not to go insane with grief and infinite sorrows — oh, but then, how was it possible to remember those they’ve lost along the way?

Weren’t the losses supposed to become a part of them? He used to wonder how to deal with letting go; he thought that he was okay with it — that he did fine; until he didn’t.

Would it be easy to let Cal go?

Would it be just as easy as loving him was?

Ah — he probably shouldn’t have been giving it as much though as he did. 

They’ve spent the rest of the dry season together, with no changes to their lives at all. There were longest nights under the light of the stars and brilliant moons, there were sparrings and meditations, and trips to Mos Espa. There were water shortages and other many hardships that they tackled together; and this simple life with no war almost seemed to be a happy one.Even when Cal said something borderline  _ strange _ ; even when he woke up with a sudden scream — it was still  _ fine _ . There was nothing they could do about his connection to Anakin, except just let it exist and hope that it will do no harm. That eventually Cal will find a way to figure out what to do. 

And for now… the only way was forward. The only way was to shield better and hope for the better. Trust in the Force, trust in its will, believe that it will guide them towards the light, and not the other way around. That the light will never fade.

On the day Cal left Tatooine, it was raining. 

The credits he won were enough to get him a safe trip off the planet — and some were even left to get whenever he wanted to go. To find his friends, or join the rebellion — Obi-Wan didn’t ask about his future plans. 

The rain wasn’t anything dramatic, just a few drops of water here and there —  _ but for Tatooine it was _ ; everyone in the streets were shocked by this miraculous weather, some of the population hid away, others tried to catch as much water as they could — but Obi-Wan paid them no mind. 

He felt raindrops running down his face and smiled. He felt his eyes sting.

Cal was standing at the ramp of the ship, still somehow indecisive, a lute in his hand, a shard of yellow kyber glinting in the light which shined through the clouds. The ship’s captain was already telling him to hurry up —  _ just ten minutes before take off, come on, lad, you want to leave this ball of sand or not? _

It was then, when Cal turned and ran back towards the crowd. 

“Obi-Wan!”

There was a momentary pause, as they stood there, eyes locked, feeling the Force dancing around them, singing the saddest serenade — yet again. 

“Promise, we’ll meet again.” 

Could he promise such a thing? Could he keep it, if he did?

The words spilled from his lips before he caught them. The words, and a gentle kiss on the forehead, something that made his own heart melt; something that made the cold inside his chest finally go away. 

“I promise you.”

He watched the ship lift off and disappear beyond the horizon; watched how the sky slowly cleared from the clouds. 

He knew what he had to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are you going to do, Obi-Wan?


	18. Epilogue

The Bogano sunrises were indeed colored in the hues of peach pinks, and the breeze was so, so gentle — Cal has almost forgotten how it felt to meditate anywhere else; all he remembered were the endless dunes of Tatooine, colored in sepias during the day and in blues during the night. 

Here  _ everything  _ seemed different. 

His friends — his family — welcomed him back with open arms, even though he had been missing for almost a year. Despite this, he felt that their relationships were bound to change; he now saw things that he was missing before. He saw that Cere didn't have his best interest in heart, exactly; she had her own idea about what was best for a survivor of a purge; or a Jedi. She was somehow offended by his braid, it seemed. He saw that Greez wasn’t able to understand his world — perhaps, at all. None of those two seemed to get what he went through in the span of the time he had been gone, but surprisingly, Merrin did. 

“Are you a true  _ Jedi  _ now? Not just a  _ survivor _ ?” it was the first thing she asked him when he returned. She was curious, and he told her everything. Down to the bottom of his nightmares. Days flew by, and they found themselves speaking, sitting in the tall grass, until the sunrises faded into brightly colored days. Cal knew that this won’t last — the peaceful conversations were doomed to end, because one day he would, eventually, join the fighting. Even on Bogano the stars still called for him; he knew that the Force wanted him to fight. To put his skills to a good cause — even if he was bound to be alone, it didn’t matter.

He had to do what he must.

No matter how much it hurt.

Merrin always left him by the sunset to meditate, knowing that he liked to be alone now. Enjoyed the silence and the whispers of the wind. Nobody dared to disturb his peace, as if fearing that he would snap — as if he ever could do such a thing. 

He watched the sun slowly set and listened to the breeze, playing with the tall grass. He closed his eyes and remembered the visions his Master, his beloved Master — Obi-Wan — showed him. The cyan sacred springs of Alderaan, the endless meadows, the blooming flowers and the waterfalls shaped like softest clouds. He hoped that one day he would visit this promised land and see for himself — he wished they could see the beauty of Alderaan together — but he knew that it might not be possible. Not until —

He felt a hand on his shoulder, so warm and familiar, that it made him open his eyes and flinch — turn so abruptly, he almost fell. 

Obi-Wan stood there, looking down at him. He looked — he almost looked younger than Cal remembered him being; and he wore the white armor over his chest and arms — like in the first year of the Clone Wars, Cal remembered the reports of the Council; remembered the pictures.  _ He looked like a memory.  _

“Didn’t I promise you we’ll see each other again?”

Cal smiled.He knew that his Master would never break a promise. Ever. So whatever he did — 

Whatever he did, Cal trusted him. Always. And Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have it! I might make it a series one day, and turn it into a road-story where they travel together, but oh well!! That's it for now! Thanks for staying with me for so long!  
> Come and say hi on tumblr if you wanna, I don't write there, but I do draw a lot of stuff - https://archiedrawsstuff.tumblr.com/


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